


Bloodied

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Blood, Blood Loss, Choking, Codependency, Dehydration, Exhaustion, Fainting, Fire, Gaslighting, Gen, Guilt, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt No Comfort, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insomnia, Kidnapping, Language Barrier, Manipulation, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Regeneration (Doctor Who), Regeneration Angst (Doctor Who), Restraints, Stabbing, Starvation, Temporary Character Death, The rest of the Deca are mentioned but not present, There is comfort eventually but that's gonna be a different fic, Time Shenanigans, Timeline Shenanigans, Timelines, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Victim Blaming, Whump, Whumptober 2020, accidentally, but evil, chemically-induced breathing troubles, drugged food, even though she isn't actually in the fic, hints of Tecteun's A+ Parenting, shout-out to Gallifrey for managing to screw up all ten of the Deca in new and exciting ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 21,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: Theta gets kidnapped, and it gets worse from thereMy first Whumptober challenge - and I'm going for all 31 days!
Relationships: The Deca - Relationship
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008846
Comments: 72
Kudos: 18
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's a very elaborate background to the specific AU this takes place in, but the gist of it is: Instead of the Doctor leaving Gallifrey by himself/with Susan, the entire Deca go. Lots of found family feels, lots of morally gray fluff, and entirely too many characters for me to want to write right now. But really, none of that matters, because this fic is all about hurting Theta :D
> 
> I'm going to try to update every day, somewhere between 500 and 1k words per chapter and each one corresponding to the appropriate day on the Whumptober prompt list. So, today's is Let's Hang Out - waking up restrained | shackled | hanging. If a chapter needs more specific content warnings, I'll put them in the notes. Please take care of yourselves and don't read anything that will make you too uncomfortable - I'll be putting a brief summary of the previous chapter in the notes of the next one, that way you don't miss anything if you need to skip one for your mental health.

Theta wakes up - well, maybe 'wakes up' isn't the right term, not with how groggy he feels - slowly. Something rough and tight chafes at the skin of his wrists, and his arms ache, pulled above his head at an uncomfortable angle. An experimental tug proves that he's tied in place, though his legs are unbound.

He forces his eyes open, taking in the unfamiliar, cramped room. It's dark, save for a sliver of yellowed light leaking out from around a door, faintly illuminating the dull floor.

Theta yanks at the rope again, trying to pull his arms down. Scratchy fibers dig into his skin, no sign of give to the restraints.

"Hello?" he calls. "Kos?"

No response comes. A droplet of water lands on his hand with a  _ plop. _

"Ushas? Drax?" Desperation begins to thread through his voice as he pulls once more. "Anyone?"

Silence, except for the splatter of another drop of water on his numbing fingers. His hearts start to pick up the pace of their beats; dangerous situations are nothing new, but he's used to having someone with him, some idea of what's happening and why. This time, he has… nothing. No clue how he got here, no clue where  _ here _ is, no clue where his friends are.

That thought spurs him to reach out telepathically, his mind searching for the other presences that so often reside in it. All he gets is aching emptiness. He tries not to panic at that. Usually, at least Koschei is there, a soothing darkness in the back of Theta's mind, but even that is gone. Just Theta, alone with his thoughts, none of his family anywhere to be seen.

They're probably fine. Hopefully, they're looking for him. Maybe they just haven't noticed that he's gone yet. It's never happened before, but there's a first time for everything, right? Perhaps it's just a weird prank, Vansell's overactive sense of drama combined with the fact that Theta ate the last of his Earth sour gummy worms.

For all the justifications and logical reasoning, Theta's chest still feels tight. He tries shouting again.

"Let me out, this isn't funny!"

Some distant part of his mind that sounds remarkably like Borusa points out how unbecoming his behavior is for a Time Lord. He should be dignified, collected, calm; not panicking and shouting like some common shobogan. Theta ignores it as best he can.

Acutely aware of the passage of time, Theta knows it's been seven hours since he woke up. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of any person. After shouting his throat raw, he gave up on trying to attract any sort of attention, and focused on trying to keep his arms from losing all feeling. His fingers still feel fuzzy and distant, but it's a marked improvement from when he couldn't feel them at all. The water sporadically dripping from above trickles down his arms in tiny rivulets.

Footsteps echo outside of the door, coming to a halt. A shadow blocks some of the scant light leaking in around the doorframe.

Some sort of conversation is going on outside, but Theta can't comprehend it. With a realization that sends his hearts plummeting, it clicks for him that he must be too far from the TARDIS for the translation circuits to affect him.

For some reason, that's the thing that makes him break. He could handle the emptiness of his own mind, alone without the people he loves; he could handle the stress and panic of being kidnapped with no idea what's going on; he could even handle going seven hours with his arms tied above his head, trying desperately to keep his circulation functioning. And yet, somehow, he can't handle losing his connection to the TARDIS on top of all that. It's just too much.

With a tiny, choked-back sob, Theta feels tears begin to gather in his eyes. After one last, weak tug at the ropes holding him in place, he hangs his head and lets the tears run down his face. This is just a waiting game, he tries to tell himself. Just until his friends find him. Just a little bit longer.


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta woke up tied up in an unfamiliar room, had a nice long shout about it, and then had a bit of a breakdown when he realized his connection to the TARDIS was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is In The Hands of The Enemy - "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

The sound of the door creaking open, dragging against the stone floor, jolts Theta into awareness again. By habit, he makes a move to wipe the tears and snot off of his face, but only succeeds in hurting his shoulders as he does so. Right. Still tied up.

He looks up. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the dim yellow light, are a pair of figures. One is humanoid, though a pair of jagged horns stick up from their head. The other is taller, and seems to be composed mostly of bright blue amorphous gas. Despite not being able to see either's eyes - or eye equivalents - Theta gets the impression they're both looking at him.

"Who-" He breaks off into a rasping cough, his throat still sore from the earlier bout of screaming. A shuddering breath in, and then he tries again. "Who are you?"

The humanoid tilts their head, and then says something. Theta still can't understand it; for a moment, he wishes Millennia was here. She's got a knack for languages. Immediately, he feels guilty for that. Not even his yearning for someone familiar would be worth having to watch one of his friends suffer alongside him.

As the humanoid steps closer, Theta tries to push back further against the wall. He doesn't know what these creature want with him, but he doubts it's anything good. It doesn't help.

At this distance, he can feel the humanoid's breath on his face as they grab his chin, forcing his head one way then the other. When they try to pry his mouth open, he bites down hard on their fingers and attempts a kick aimed at their stomach.

The blow connects, forcing a sudden exhale out of the creature, but it's not powerful enough to move them. He does manage to draw blood with his teeth, however. They yank their fingers out of his mouth and raise their uninjured hand to slap him. Teeth bared, he grins. Anger makes people stupid, and maybe he can provoke this creature into making a mistake.

Before they can, the gaseous creature says something.  _ Omega _ is it awful to not understand them. If Theta could just know what they want him for…

Scowling, the humanoid steps back, their bleeding hand clenched into a fist. They snap a short and terse word to the other creature, then turn and leave, not bothering to close the door.

Something oily and slick presses against Theta's mind, and he throws shields up faster than he ever has before. The gaseous creature moves closer, and the presence strengthens. He snarls and clamps down the walls of his mind, working furiously to set up a smokescreen of false memories in case this  _ thing _ does get through.

After a moment, though, the mental pressure lessens. The greasy, prying presence fades. Whatever information the creature had been looking for, it has now. It, too, leaves the room.

Theta watches with trepidation as it does, hoping that it will leave the door open, and nearly cries with joy when it does. With new fervor, he pulls at the ropes binding his arms and prays that he can get free. If he can just shimmy one hand loose, he'll be able to release the other one. Then he can escape, and he can find some way to contact his family, and this awful ordeal will be over, and-

The humanoid returns, and now the tears choking his throat are of frustration. They walk up to him, and that's about when he realizes that there's something in their hands. A collar, faint metallic sheen reflecting the rotten light from the tauntingly open door.

He raises one leg to kick at them again, but they merely step to the side, out of his range of motion. Panic rises, thick and fast in his chest.

"No," Theta hisses, trying to lean away from the creature's hands. "Nonono, please, no, don't-"

His voice cuts off as the cold metal snaps around his neck. A Time Lord's most vulnerable spot, one of the few places where an injury could kill him for good. There's no regenerating from decapitation. He's not even out of his first regeneration yet,  _ this can't happen, why is this happening? _

He tries to scream; the sound builds in his chest and  _ stops _ when it hits his throat, making him cough from the strangeness of it. A cruel grin splits the creature's face, revealing pointed teeth that shine in the light.

They press a button on a small remote control, and a bolt of pain lances down Theta's spine. His muscles tense, his lips part in a silent, agonized shout, and his legs nearly give out. As the pain fades, he's left trembling, arms aching and hearts racing.


	3. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta meets his kidnappers, though he can't understand them. He gets collared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is My Way Or The Highway - Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

When the rope holding Theta's arms in place loosens, it doesn't come as a relief. With the collar around his neck, he can't struggle without another shock - he'd learned  _ that _ from experience - and the strange dizziness as his arms drop to his sides only disorientates him more.

The humanoid deftly loops the rope through a ring on the collar and tugs Theta away from the wall. He stumbles, legs still weak from the repeated pain of the shocks and stiff from the past several hours. They pull harder, and he nearly falls before managing to scramble upright. With a derisive noise, they lead him out of the room and into the hallway.

The floor is made of the same dull grey stone as in the room, he notes as he's pulled down the corridor. After a confusing array of turns, he finds himself in a large room. A variety of spacecraft are docked inside, everything from small shuttles to cruise vessels.

With another harsh tug at the rope, the humanoid takes him to a compact, blocky ship painted in peeling orange, barely big enough for five people. A snap of their fingers lowers a walkway, and they're no more gentle leading him up that than they were in the hallways.

Inside, he's shoved roughly onto a jumpseat. The rope is knotted around one of the metal beams that crisscrosses the ceiling, forcing Theta to tilt his head upward or choke from the pressure.

The ship starts with a low, mechanical rumble that rattles Theta's seat. It's an awful feeling, not being able to sense the ship in his mind as it begins to move. Vibrating metal is just that - lifeless, inanimate metal. No telepathic interface, no gentle touch to his mind, no passive-aggressive placement of tea mugs when he goes to get a drink because he forgot to clean the rotors. He almost wants to laugh; he never thought that he would miss the TARDIS' pettiness.

At this point, though, anything would be better than this.

The ship jerks abruptly to one side, and Theta goes with it, the pressure of the collar around his throat constricting his airflow for a moment. It's hard for a Time Lord to choke, especially with the assistance of a respiratory bypass, but he's already so panicked that knowing that doesn't help much.

As the ship rights itself, he tries to fall into a healing trance. Sleep is far too risky - he doesn't think he could bear to be unconscious and even more vulnerable - but he can maintain some awareness in a trance, and it might do his aching arms some good.

Closing his eyes, Theta sinks into his mind and away from his body. A part of him still expects to find his family's mental presence there, dulling the painful brightness of his thoughts and draping lovingly over his memories. Instead, he only finds mirror-sharp awareness that makes him recoil. Worse than that, though, is the emptiness, the silence.

He's grown used to having the others in his mind; not even communicating, just letting a portion of their own psychic force linger. A telepathic hand linked with his own, a sturdy thread tying them together. Unbreakable, or so they'd all pretended.

If he had any tears left to cry, the ache of being truly alone would have brought them to the surface. When he'd been tied up, he had occupied his mind with plans of escape, but now such thoughts seem futile and he has no choice but to recognize how truly helpless he is. No one to help him, very little chance of freedom, and not even the knowledge of where he's being taken to occupy his pitifully lonely mind.


	4. Day Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta was taken to a ship by his captor, and gets lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Running Out Of Time - Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building  
> TW for some suicidal ideation

The landing of the ship isn't smooth. All through its descent to the surface of whatever planet it's taken Theta to, it judders and creaks as though it's about to fall apart at any moment. But eventually, land it does, and his captor unties the rope from the support beam and yanks him after them.

Above him, the sky is a dark purple that puts Theta in mind of Gallifreyan oceans at night. Indigo waters reflecting back the stars and moons, rippling with the movement of its denizens. It's been decades since he saw them last. Maybe he'll never see them again.

With a harsh tug to the rope, his captor drags him out of his memories and toward a towering building, standing tall against the short blue vegetation. The front door requires a set of three passcodes, which Theta is careful to take note of, though he can't understand the symbols. If he intends to escape - and he certainly does - then he'll need every advantage he can get.

Once the heavy door opens, he's led through what seems to be a house. The fixtures and furniture all indicate that it's not a place of business, nor any kind of medical facility, and it's suspiciously empty for anything else. Thus, most likely a residence.

Up a flight of stairs, through another passcode-locked door, and then into what can only be a cage. Spanning an entire room, sure, but a cage nonetheless. The cold metal bars make that quite clear. The door to this is locked with an old-fashioned key that Theta's kidnapped pulls out of their pocket. A small light blinks on the end as they twist it, opening the door and forcing Theta inside.

They say something incomprehensible, lock the door again, and leave him alone in his new room. Rope still dangles from the collar, and he briefly considers using it to hang himself. The resulting Artron energy from his regeneration might be enough to short-circuit the collar, and he could probably escape after that. He files the plan away as a last resort, and proceeds to glance around his cage.

There isn't much to work with, escape-wise. A mattress, bare of sheets or a frame; a primitive toilet, all smooth, rounded metal; no windows or openings of any kind except those between the bars of the cage, and even they are no more than a finger width of space. In short, a perfectly miserable situation to break loose from.

With a sigh, Theta sits down on the mattress. From the way it sags beneath his weight, it doesn't even have springs he could dig out and repurpose. He twists the end of the rope around his fingers idly, and wonders what dying feels like.

Several days pass, and something of a routine begins to emerge. Each morning, his captor brings in a bowl of something sour and liquid that makes his stomach turn. Each evening, they bring instead a small portion of suspiciously greying meat. If he takes too long eating, Theta is shocked by the collar. If he refuses to eat, he is shocked by the collar. He learns both of those things quickly.

Whatever species they belong to, apparently his kidnapper doesn't require water, as they never once bring anything for him to drink. On the ninth day, this begins to have consequences. Theta had tried to keep his energy up, doing laps of the room during the day, but he loses the stamina for that rather quickly once standing up makes him dizzy. Even Time Lords can only go so long without water, and he's rapidly approaching that boundary.

It would, arguably, be an easier death than hanging himself. He wouldn't even have to do anything. But some tiny, distant part of his brains  _ screams _ that dehydration is an awful way to die, though he knows he's never experienced it. That's the sort of thing one would remember - and besides, he's never even regenerated before. Probably just something one of his teachers mentioned once that he ignored at the time.

Theta doesn't want to die without trying to escape some other way first. He needs to make his move soon, or never.


	5. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Theta is placed in a cage, and begins planning his escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Where Do You Think You're Going? - On The Run | Failed Escape | Rescue  
> TW: vomiting  
> Also, sorry for the skipped day, school was busier than anticipated and my foolish self did not write chapters in advance. Thus, yall get two chapters today, so I can get back on track!

Theta has a plan. Sort of. He has the rough outline of a plan, at least. Given his options, it has to be enough, because the alternative is regenerating alone, unprepared, and unsafe. Three things one should never do, according to every piece of advice Theta has ever received about regeneration.

His captor enters the cage at the same time they always do - nine hours, thirty minutes, forty-odd seconds after the previous meal - with a bowl of the same bitter, disgusting liquid as every other time. Theta takes the bowl, chokes down the first sip, which is always the worst, and begins to set his plan in motion.

Choking and gagging violently, he curls up where he sits and spills the rest of the liquid onto the cold floor. Usually, wasting food results in a cruel shock from the collar, but he's never coughed like this before. With something that might, in a different set of circumstances, be called concern, his captor leans down to inspect Theta closer.

He reaches out, feigning a grasp at their shoulder while his other hand slips the key to the cage from their pocket. Thank the Other for Koschei's weird magician phase a few decades ago, and the fact that Theta had learned some of the tricks to appease him. Tucking the key into his fist, Theta coughs again, even as it makes his throat burn.

Clearly unsure of how to respond, the humanoid tries sending a jolt of electricity through the collar. Theta writhes in pain, but continues retching as the agony fades. For one perfect moment, as his kidnapped panics, the remote to the collar is held loosely and within his reach, and his empty hand darts out, snatching it.

Before they can react, Theta stands and  _ runs _ for the door. He barely manages to slam it shut in the creature's face, but he can't help a smug grin as he locks the door. As he knows from experience, this particular containment is hard to escape.

He makes his way quickly through the house, not even pausing to try to remove the collar. Once he's free from this place, he can worry about that.

Outside, the sunlight is blinding against his eyes after days of only artificial illumination. He adjusts quickly, Gallifreyan eyes used to the brightness of two suns, and sprints across the short blue grass to the ship.

"No key," he rasps - the first words he's said in days. "I don't- I need a key."

Theta is good with mechanical things, always has been, but he has  _ nothing _ to work with. Thus, he has an equal chance of getting into the ship that means his freedom. His finger clench tight around the remote and key, the only two things he has now.

Already, the sky above is sinking from lavender into that indigo darkness, and that means colder temperatures, possible predatory lifeforms, and worse vision. He needs some kind of shelter, fast.

The house he'd been kept in stands alone in a field of blue, surrounded by towering, jagged spikes of rock. Like the forests of silver-leafed trees he remembers playing in, turned twisted and cruel and nightmarish. Just like everything else has been, ever since he woke up in that accursed room.

With a heavy sigh that burns along his aching throat, he turns away from the ship, his last hope of freedom, and towards the pillars of stone. He picks a direction, resigns himself to a long walk, and begins trekking. Anything would be better than here, at least.


	6. Day Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta escaped, but without a way to start the ship he arrived on, he's forced to explore the planet in hopes of better fortune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is Please... - "Get it out" | No More | "Stop, please"  
> TW: Dehydration and associated suffering

He wishes he could say that he doesn't know how long he's been walking. Unfortunately, Time Lords don't get the privilege of that sort of ignorance. It's been fifteen hours of walking in roughly the same direction. Weaving between the unforgiving stone pillars with no end in sight, long enough now that the sky has lightened back to pale violet. No sign of any change in the geography, except for a slight change in hue of the rock. No sign of water, or food, or civilization, or anything but more of the same.

For the past five hours, Theta's every muscle has been on the verge of collapse. His legs burn from the walking, his feet ache from the hard-packed dirt that the grass grows in, his arms are exhausted from supporting him against the spires of stone when he rests against one. Even his brains are foggy and dull with dehydration, his only thought now of finding water and food. A couple hours ago, back when he'd had more clarity of thought, the sneering tones of his former teachers had told him, one last time, exactly how much of a pathetic excuse for a Time Lord he is. Now, all he can think of is where to next put his feet to continue the slow, torturous trudge onwards.

After a particularly heavy step, Theta's legs give out entirely, leaving him sprawled and gasping on the thin carpet of blue grass. He forces himself back up, leaning against one outcropping and breathing heavily.

If he had enough energy for it, he would be crying again. Another stumbling step forward, hand pressed to the stone, lurching forward desperately.

His head swims, vision spinning and blurring. Throat aching -  _ stars _ that coughing was a mistake - he takes another rasping breath in. He doesn't even know if he's going the right way. Is there a right way? Is this whole damn planet just endless spears of rock and blue grass that looks so tauntingly like water?

Water. Surely there must be  _ some, _ somewhere on this horrible, miserable chunk of dirt. Biology was never his strong suit, not compared to Ushas or Rallon, but plants need water to live. There must be water here.

Black spots dance across his sight, and he can't even tell if they're real or just another side effect of his deteriorating condition. Theta collapses to the ground once more, and can't find the strength to stand. Blades of grass poke at his face, and his eyes begin to slide closed. Everything hurts, and he just wants a moment of rest.

"Please," he whispers. To the sky, the sickeningly blue grass, the universe at large, to anything listening. "Please, I can't."

The black spots grow, blotting out the last glimpses of the same surroundings he's been walking through for hours. Unconsciousness' sweet embrace is a welcome relief from the ache in every muscle of his body. Maybe he'll wake up in a new body, or maybe he'll wake up from this living nightmare back in his TARDIS, safe and sound. Somehow, Theta doesn't think he'll be that lucky.


	7. Day Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta, wandering the planet he's trapped on, passes out from exhaustion and dehydration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is I've Got You - Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker  
> No specific TWs today

"Can you hear me?"

A gentle, soft voice filters through the fog of Theta's brain, and he tries to force his eyes open. The insides of his eyelids feel like sandpaper, and he soon gives up that attempt. He groans, and then coughs when he finds his throat dry and choked.

"It's okay, don't try to talk," the voice says quickly. "Here, you're probably thirsty."

What feels like the rim of a cup presses to his parched lips, and he takes a small, hesitant sip. Cool water fills his mouth, and he doesn't think he's ever tasted anything so wonderful. He takes another sip, and another, and -

"No, no, don't drink it all at once." The cup disappears. "You'll make yourself sick. You're extremely dehydrated - it's a wonder you're in such good condition. Why don't you try opening your eyes for me, and then you can have a little more, hmm?"

It hurts, opening his eyes, but he manages. Vision blurry, it takes him a moment to make out what's in front of him. A warm, smiling face, Gallifreyan-esque in build, with brown hair neatly pulled back. And, as he'd thought, a cheerful yellow cup full of water, held in a hand that probably goes with the face. His brains are still too fried to process more than that.

"There you go, good." The face smiles again. "Here, have a bit, there's a dear."

Theta takes a greedy gulp of water, not caring in the least when it spills slightly. Then it's pulled away again.

"I'm… well, you can call me Marla, I suppose. No, don't try to talk, I'm sure I'll learn your name eventually." Marla pats him on the shoulder, then stands from the chair beside Theta's bed. "I'm going to get you a little something to eat, and you just stay here and rest. I'll leave the cup here, but don't drink too much too quickly, you hear?"

He nods, though the motion sets his head swimming again. Marla hands the cup of water to him, then leaves the - oh, he's in a room. Of course he is; he just hadn't thought about it yet. The walls are simple and grey, but a large window lets pale purple light shine in. Still on the same planet, then, but Theta couldn't care less about that right now. He has water, and food on the way, and a place to recover.

As much as he wants to get back to his friends, back to his  _ family, _ after what he's been through, Theta needs a break. This room is the first place he's felt even somewhat safe since he woke up in that- that dungeon.

The thought makes his hand fly to his throat, and he finds the collar gone. Somehow, Marla must have gotten it off of him. He's too addled to even wonder how, just grateful that she did.

Marla takes ten minutes and thirty-seven seconds exactly to return, with a plate of something that looks a bit like a flower. Sort of. Theta's never seen anything like it, but if it's edible then he isn't going to complain.

"You didn't drink all the water yet, did you?" she asks, sitting back down beside him. Theta shakes his head, and Marla smiles. "Good, good. Wouldn't want you getting sick. Now, eat up."

With unsteady fingers, he reaches out and picks the strange flower off the plate. The white petals are stiff and hold their shape as he lifts it. Curiosity and hunger working together, he takes a bite. It's bland, for the most part, with a slight aftertaste that reminds him of the herbal teas that Millennia is fond of. It's easy to eat, at least, soothing on his still-dry throat.

Marla watches him eat, an eager look in her eyes. "Enjoying it?"

Theta manages a small smile in reply.

"Wonderful. Now, can you answer a few questions for me? Just nod yes or no. You're lost, correct?"

Nod.

"And you need help?"

Firm nod.

"I see. Do you remember where you're from?"

Nod.

"It wouldn't happen to be Gallifrey, would it?"

Another nod, and then it occurs to him that she shouldn't know that. His eyes go wide.

"Don't fret, I just noticed the double pulses," Marla reassures him. "Quite distinctive. So, you're a Time Lord?"

A slow, cautious nod.

Marla smiles. "Well, this has been… enlightening. Why don't you finish off that water and get some more sleep, hmm? I'll check on you soon."

For one of the first times in his life, Theta does as he's told. Though his mind is still fuzzy, he doesn't quite trust Marla anymore. Something about her makes his sense prickle. Still, she's his only hope for help right now. He finishes the cup of water and lets his eyes flutter closed again. Despite his unease, sleep finds him the moment he begins to relax.  



	8. Day Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta woke up in a new place, being cared for by a woman named Marla, who seems just a little bit... off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Where Did Everybody Go? - "Don't say goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation, which I took a little more metaphorically than usual for Plot Reasons  
> TW: vomiting, semi-graphic descriptions of a dead animal being dissolved

Violet light nearly blinds Theta when he wakes. He blinks, the setting - rising? He doesn't know - sun glaring through the window across from his bed.

"M-" Breaking off in a cough, he tries again. "Marla?"

No response comes. Perhaps she's in another part of this house. If it is a house. He hasn't seen more than this room; maybe it's just a shack.

Slowly, Theta pulls himself out of bed. His head swims a little as he stands, though not nearly as bad as it had been before. He makes a mental note to get himself more water when he has the chance.

The door is made of a single thin sheet of stone, light enough that it pulls open easily. Outside is a large room, more large windows studding the gray walls, bathing the place in a faint haze of purple. There's still no sign of Marla.

Theta walks, slowly, one hand on the wall, to what he assumes is a kitchen. A large glass jug of water sits on the countertop, and he helps himself to several gulps from it, spilling down the front of the tattered white button-up he's been wearing for… too long.

Thirst quenched for the moment, he continues exploring and searching for Marla. As he goes, he tries not to panic at the apparent emptiness of the house.

Theta doesn't do well alone, really. When he first met Koschei, after nearly eight years of relative isolation growing up, he had clung to the chance of companionship without shame. He'd met the rest of his friends soon after and done much the same. They'd been inseparable, and he liked it that way. Even running away from Gallifrey, they'd done together.

Now, alone, not even an echo of a psychic presence to soothe his mind, he misses them more than ever. He needs to get back to them. He needs-

As he thought, Theta had been idly running his hands along the wall of the hallway that branches out from the main room. When his hand passed from smooth rock to empty air, he nearly fell. Somehow, he'd missed the open doorway in the corridor until he was practically on top of it.

A flight of stairs leads down into the well-lit space below, and he can hear someone - Marla, presumably - humming. Intrigued, he begins descending the stairs.

Below is a laboratory of sorts. Far less sophisticated than the ones the TARDIS, or even the Academy, boasts, but more advanced than Theta would have expected to find in such an austere place. Among the neatly arranged equipment stands Marla, busy with some project or other.

Theta has been quiet as he walked, quiet enough not to rouse her attention. So he stands on the steps, halfway down, and watches for a moment.

A beaker of something bubbling and green is transferred from the heat source, some poured carefully into a separate container and then put in a storage unit. Marla places the rest aside, and grabs a small, furry  _ something _ off of another table.

After living with Ushas for the better part of three centuries now, Theta is well acquainted with bizarre animal experiments. So it's not too shocking when Marla dips the dead creature into the still-roiling liquid, and then watches as its flesh sloughs off the bones, muscle searing and then dissolving, sinew and organs bubbling away in the acid. Really, it's quite run of the mill.

It's when the timelines lurch sharply backwards and the whole process undoes itself that he begins to freak out. Marla nods, notes something down on a tablet, and the timelines  _ shove _ forward sickeningly as the meat and sinew and tissue burn away again.

Theta's not quite sure when he throws up, but it's some time around the fourth repetition of this horrific cycle of twisting, knotting timelines. Marla turns away from her- sweet Other, Theta can't even think of a word for the abomination she's perpetrating, just that it sets his every time-sense  _ screaming _ \- and looks at him.

"Oh, wonderful, you're awake!" she says, with a smile that makes his skin crawl. "Why don't you come down and we can have a talk?"


	9. Day Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Theta realizes exactly why Marla seemed so off - she's manipulating timelines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is For The Greater Good - "Take me instead" | "Run!" | Ritual Sacrifice

Slowly, reluctantly, his feet heavy on every footfall, Theta descends the rest of the stairs into Marla's lab, pulled down by curiosity against his better sense. The residual scent-taste of twisting, fragmenting time burns his sinuses as he gets closer to the source. Marla is still smiling, the same kind smile as when he had first woken up in this place. It makes his stomach churn.

"Now, I'm sure you have questions," she says brightly. "So why don't you have a seat?"

She points at a stool, positioned near one of the tables. Theta remains standing.

"Fine, fine, have it your way," Marla sighs.

"What are you doing?" he croaks out, throat still dry and choked. "Why would you- what is this?"

A cheerful smile splits her face, just a little too wide to be natural. "You're a Time Lord, surely you can figure out what I just did with the timelines. Or maybe not - you're young, aren't you? Still in your first body, all that Artron energy just  _ waiting _ to be used."

There's a hungry, predatory look in her eyes that sends a shiver down Theta's spine. The cadence of her voice is just off enough to make dread settle in his hearts; though by now, they're already brimming with it. Being this close to the site of an abomination in time is unsettling him badly enough, but Marla just makes it worse.

"Or maybe you meant in a broader sense," the woman says. "In which case, well… let's just say I have a vested interest in figuring out just what makes you Time Lords tick. Therefor, learning what makes  _ time _ tick is the first step. You, though…" She steps closer, and Theta flinches back. "You're going to be very helpful indeed."

His initial reaction is to say something about how she  _ can't, _ how this is spitting in the face of every Law of Time and then some, how it's just  _ wrong. _ But hasn't he done the same? A pet project of his is the creation of a functional paradox machine, after all, and he's torn some rather messy holes in the fabric of Time trying to get it working properly. That's different though, the part of him that's all Time Lord superiority argues with the rest of himself; because he knows the rules, and knows how to bend them. He can sense the threads, and knows which ones he can pull a little tighter without too much consequence. Marla is blind to that, blundering through and tearing the fabric to shreds piece by piece, like a bull with a delicate tapestry caught in its horns.

"You can't do this," he says, because the proud Time Lord side of him wins in the end.

Her face twists, friendly smile disappearing. "Can't I? If the universe hasn't broken yet, then clearly it must not be all that bad. Neat little loop. If I destroy time, then it would already be destroyed. It isn't, ergo I don't."

"That isn't how this works," he snaps, fury beginning to overpower horror and fear and disgust. "Paradoxes are so much more complicated than that."

"That's what they tell you." Marla steps closer again, a manic light in her eyes. "But they're wrong. It doesn't make any sense any other way. Now,  _ Time Lord, _ are you going to help me willingly, or will I have to be mean?"

Far too late, Theta realizes that he's trapped himself against the table. He grabs behind him, looking for something to defend himself with as she gets even closer to him. All he feels is empty, smooth tabletop, and thick panic rises in his chest again.

"It's for the greater good, you know," she says. "All those petty little restrictions on what we can and can't do with time, all that stuck-up superiority and bureaucracy that never does anyone any good. If I could just figure out how to get around it - imagine what it would be like."

He can. It's the sort of thing that horror stories are made of, back home. The sort of thing Brax would scare him with, when he was being a nuisance. Time unravelling around itself and tangling into a messy, paradoxical snarl, the past and present and future torn out of place. The universe's timeline shredded to pieces, and individual ones dead-ending prematurely because Time itself couldn't keep them going.

"Look, just listen," he says desperately. "Whatever it is that you want to be fixed, I'm sure I can do that for you. If you let me go, I'll be able to get my TARDIS, and we can make a deal, okay?"

A complete and utter lie; once he gets back to his family he has no doubt in his mind that there will be - what's that quaint human phrase? - Hell to pay for the people responsible for this. And Marla is far too big a risk to the timelines to be allowed to live. But if it gets him out of this place, then Theta will say just about anything.

"That wouldn't change the fact that  _ they _ would still be on top," Marla sneers. Then her face softens, that same eerie smile returning. "Don't worry, though. You'll be so useful. The dramatic irony of dismantling the Time Lords with one of their own is just… beautiful."

She does  _ something _ to the timelines that makes his vision swim with agony, and then the next thing he knows, he's on the floor, his hands tied securely to a leg of the table. Marla is humming the same tune as before, once again heating a beaker of acid.


	10. Day Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla explains her goals - figuring out how Time Lords really work - much to Theta's horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is They Look So Pretty When They Bleed - Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood  
> TW: Blood loss, stabbing, knives, torture, bit of dissociation to cope with the above, slight use of needles

Four hours and twenty-six minutes, eighteen and a third seconds. That's how long Theta has been stuck in Marla's lab, forced to watch as she yanks timelines back and forth without a care for the stability of Time. It's minor enough not to be doing much more than microfractures, but even those can accumulate and cause serious damage.

Eventually, though, she finishes a round of experiments and finally turns her attention back to her captive. The horrible smile is back in place.

"I wonder," she begins, "how Time Lords figured out immortality. Surely that must be part of why they're so skilled at manipulating time. They exist outside of its consequences. Never aging, never dying permanently…"

She trails off, then reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small knife. As she steps closer to Theta, kneeling down to be level with him, she turns the blade over in her hands a few times.

"What exactly triggers it?" she asks. "Is it just harm?"

The hand holding the knife snaps out, piercing through the fabric of Theta's shirt and slicing open his left arm. He hisses slightly at the pain - the knife isn't particularly sharp, and it  _ tears _ more than cuts.

Marla waits for a moment, then frowns when no haze of gold begins to rise around him. Another slice, just as painful, to his opposite arm. Blood seeps out, staining the white of his shirt scarlet-orange. The cuts burn, sensitive nerves exposed to open air and cut jagged and raw.

"No?" Marla shrugs. "I suppose that makes sense. Would hardly be  _ efficient _ to have it come out every time you got a papercut. What about…"

She moves to press the knife to the inside of Theta's leg, where a large artery sits on most humanoids. Not Time Lords, but he doesn't feel the need to tell her that. Any information he gives her to help with whatever her horrible end goal is will need to be dragged out of him by far greater agony than a few cuts.

Then the knife bites through the sensitive skin there, and he smothers a whimper at the pain. It's not the worst thing he's ever endured, but it does  _ hurt. _ More blood gushes out, drip-drip-dripping stickily onto the cold floor.

Marla hums consideringly, and tries again on the other leg. Theta's tied hands clench into the best approximation of fists that they can manage in their current state, warm blood soaking through his trousers as well as his shirt. The cuts on his arms have already slowed to a sluggish ooze, and now the torn fabric is beginning to stick to it. Distantly, he thinks that it's going to be a pain to remove.

"Still nothing?" Marla frowns again. "Maybe there just isn't enough blood loss."

This time, she plunges the knife deep into his stomach, and Theta feels tears well up in his eyes. The tear of skin and tissue makes a wet noise that, if he had anything left to give, would probably make him vomit again. Marla yanks the knife back out with the same casual cruelty as she'd used when plunging various animal corpses into the bubbling liquid earlier, and watches for a long moment as the white fabric soaks to orange.

Theta can feel his hearts racing in his chest, and tries to slow them down. Beating faster means more blood loss means a higher chance of giving Marla what she wants - his regeneration. His attempts at deep, slow breaths are… unsuccessful. Panic is still high in his throat, and he can't seem to make himself hold a breath for more than a few seconds before it comes out as shaky, pained noise.

Marla shakes her head, disappointed. "Well, perhaps if I leave you here to bleed for a little while."

She bustles around the room, gathering what Theta dimly recognizes as energy sensing equipment and setting it up around him. A few needles are jabbed into his already bloodstained arms to monitor for any trace of Artron energy.

Then, her work done for the moment, Marla sets the bloody knife on the table, just out of Theta's narrow line of sight, and heads up the stairs.


	11. Day Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla tries to get regeneration energy out of Theta by stabbing him and leaving him to bleed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Psych 101 - Defiance | Struggling | Crying  
> TW: Gaslighting, victim blaming, manipulation, threats of starvation

Theta doesn't know how long Marla will be gone, but he knows this might be his best chance at escape. So, in an echo of his actions when he first woke up in this nightmare, he yanks at the bindings on his wrists. One hand loose, that's all he needs, but he can't seem to manage it. His arms are weak with blood loss, his head can't quite seem to decide whether it's stuffed with cotton or just in pain, and whatever was used to restrain him is stiff enough he can't wiggle his hand loose easily.

And, of course, there is the rather important matter of the gaping wound in his stomach. No internal organ damage, he doesn't think, but it still makes every minute movement agonizing. Theta wonders what would happen if he did try to draw a little regeneration energy to the surface, just enough to knit the slashed-open flesh back together. He glances at the monitoring equipment and the needles in his arms. Probably nothing good.

At least the bleeding has, for the most part, stopped. The fabric of his shirt is no longer damp, just stiff and sticky. He isn't quite sure if that's an improvement, but at least he's losing less blood.

Another tug, another attempt to pull his hands free, sends pain shooting down his arm as he catches a bone at a bad angle on the edge of the table leg. Gritting his teeth, Theta tries not to scream with frustration at the infuriating powerlessness of it. Time Lords are meant to be in control of the situation no matter what, but all he can do is struggle pointlessly.

Naturally, this is when Marla returns, a tray in her hands as she descends the stairs. She places the tray on the table Theta is tied to, and kneels down to inspect his wounds.

"Oh dear, these really are making a mess," she tuts. "You know, if you'd just cooperate, we wouldn't have to do this. I could fix you right up if you just give me a little Artron energy."

Theta glares at her. "No."

"Really? You'd rather stay like this?" Marla tilts her head and frowns in a mockery of confusion. "All I'm asking is a fraction of what you have to offer, and you're too selfish for that?"

"I'm not exactly inclined to help my torturer, no," he snaps.

Her face twists, and she slaps him, hard enough to jerk his head to the side, which in turn makes his stomach twinge again. Then the innocent look is back in place, almost pitying. "I only did this because you refused to listen. If you keep being difficult, I'm going to take this food back upstairs and you can go hungry. But if you behave, you can have a nice meal. How about that?"

"And what do you want from me in exchange for food?" Theta sneers. "Regeneration energy, more blood, the secrets of the Web of Time?"

"Your name, perhaps?" Marla says, voice level as though she's the reasonable one in this conversation. "No need to get hysterical."

Theta deflates slightly, feeling a little ridiculous for overreacting. A part of him  _ knows _ he wasn't actually being absurd, that given everything this woman's done so far he is perfectly justified to be angry. And yet, she makes him feel as though he's in the wrong. It's a slimy, unpleasant feeling, curling in his gut right next to the pain of the stab wound.

He prepares to tell her - well, not his  _ real _ name, because that's private, but at least  _ a _ name he is willing to let her call him, then stops. It's a small acquiescence on his part, in exchange for the food that he's hungry for, but it's also the first step down a road of slowly rising demands in exchange for more food. And the thought of Marla knowing his name -  _ any _ of his names - makes Theta feel sick.

"I'll pass, thanks," he says. "Can we just get back to the torturing, now?"

"Fine." Her voice is short with annoyance. "You can stay down here and go hungry, then, if you want to be disobedient about it."

She picks the plate up off the table and walks back up the stairs. Theta sags against the table once she's gone, even that small show of defiance exhausting in his current state. Then, slowly, he continues trying to pull his hands free.


	12. Day Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla begins to get manipulative, offering food in exchange for information. Theta refuses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is I Think I've Broken Something - Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust  
> TW: Broken bones

Tug at bindings, aching pain in wrists, wait, repeat. Theta's been going through this cycle for an hour now, to no avail. His wrists are rubbed bloody and raw from the friction, his arms are sore, and his stomach is twinging both from hunger and from the stab wound. He's beginning to lose what little energy he has, fighting the urge to just fall asleep only because he can't control his regeneration energy while sleeping. Though the knife missed his internal organs, Marla was right. The blood loss is slowly getting to him, and he can feel the Artron energy within him pushing slowly to the surface. He has to stay awake, so that his body won't do something stupid like try to heal itself while he sleeps. Even a healing coma would be too risky right now.

The burning ache in his wrists abates to the baseline level of pain he's grown accustomed to, and he yanks again, harder than before. As he does, his wrist slams against the leg of the table, just against the corner. A sharp, splintering agony suddenly lances down his arm and he bites down on a scream.

At first, he hopes it's just a bruise, or a sensitive nerve hit at a bad angle. Then he gingerly wiggles his left hand, and the same spike of pain sets his head spinning. It  _ hurts, _ radiating out from his wrist and into his arm in waves.

Theta's never broken a bone before, but he can only guess that this is what it feels like. As if his condition couldn't get any worse. Delicately, he tries to shift his position so that the probably-fractured bone - bones? Surely just the one wouldn't produce such agony - rests more comfortably, but moving only makes things worse.

Maybe if he- no, touching it with his other hand also makes it hurt more. Even just twitching his fingers hurts, now.

The bones in the hand are especially hard to fix, he remembers faintly. Rallon had crushed one of his metacarpal bones while doing some repairs to the TARDIS' spatial navigation components, and they had actually gone to a proper hospital to have it fixed, since it was beyond Ushas' relatively scant abilities in the medbay but hardly worth the regeneration energy. Even then, it had taken nearly twenty day-night cycles on the ship to heal properly. Theta doesn't even want to think about how messily his own injury will heal under these conditions.

Just a little bit of Artron energy would fix both it and the stab wound, he knows. It would be so easy to draw upon the golden light welling up within him and just fix it all. It would also give Marla what she wants, which is exactly what Theta is trying to avoid.

She won't stop hurting him until he gives her what he wants, that much is certain. He feels it in his exhausted, brittle bones. On some level, the situation feels almost… familiar. When he closes his eyes, he catches half-there glimpses of a grey-haired woman across the back of his eyelids. But he doesn't know who she is, or why he's envisioning her.

Maybe his hand isn't the only thing that's broken, now.


	13. Day Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta manages to break a bone in his hand while attempting to escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Breathe In, Breathe Out - Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

Marla is working on something again, moving around the lab in preparation for whatever experiment she has planned. Theta isn't bothering to pay attention; any words he might manage would come out through gritted teeth now anyways, between the definitely broken bone in his hand and the barely healing stab wound.

A sharp, sweet smell fills the air, and Theta feels his sinuses burn a little bit, his throat tightening. Slowly, careful not to jerk his head and aggravate his injuries, he turns to look at what Marla is doing. A clunky respirator is seated over her mouth and nose, thick goggles cover her eyes, and she's carefully pouring a small amount of a clear, thin liquid into a graduated cylinder.

Then, with a very deliberate movement too calculated to be an accident, she knocks over the cylinder so that the liquid spills onto the floor, spreading closer to Theta and missing her entirely.

"Oh, dear, what a mess," she says brightly. "I'll have to go get something to clean that up. You stay right there, okay?"

He hates her, Theta realizes as Marla heads up the stairs, leaving him alone in the lab as the liquid spreads closer. He genuinely, truly hates her, more than anything else he can think of. This isn't even for a  _ purpose, _ beyond causing him more pain. If she left him long enough, he would die and she would get what he wanted, but she has to make it even more agonizing for him just for her own entertainment. There isn't a shred of doubt in his mind that she's going to watch while he chokes on the thick, irritating gas filling the air and that she's going to enjoy every second of it.

Theta holds his breath as long as he can, even engaging his respiratory bypass after a few minutes, but there's only so long he can go without oxygen before he'll pass out, and he refuses to go unconscious for even a second. So, he exhales and takes in another breath of air. The sweet, overpowering scent hits the back of his throat and he coughs, then instantly regrets it.

He manages to force in a full breath, but trying to hold it for any longer than a few seconds makes his airways burn, and far sooner than he wants to, Theta breathes out, wheezing. The wound in his stomach is alight with pain as his stomach clenches with each breath, and he's pretty sure that it's started bleeding again - not that he can really tell, with the bottom edge of his shirt thoroughly stained orange. Every inhale only makes it worse, and soon he can feel something wet splatter onto his leg as he coughs again.

More blood. Lovely. As if he hadn't lost enough of it already, it's now dribbling, sticky and warm, from his mouth with every hacking exhale. His head begins to spin again, and when he instinctively moves a hand to try to support himself, it only sends another jagged bolt of pain through him as he irritates his broken hand.

He can feel his grip on consciousness getting weaker and weaker the longer he tries to hold out, but with every breath a fight he's caught between his own exhaustion and his body's insistence that he stay awake.

"I hope you didn't get lonely," Marla says - and Theta doesn't even know when she came back down. Her voice is muffled by the respirator she wears, and she's holding a few rags in her gloved hands. "Took me forever to find these, would you believe?"

She begins sopping up the liquid, though that does nothing for the smell pervading the air and Theta's lungs. Then, once the floor is dry, she tosses the soaked rags in a pile on the table Theta is tied to.

He coughs again, and Marla looks down at him. "You know, I think I have a spare respirator somewhere. Unfortunately, they're only for nice, cooperative Time Lords who share their names. So, I guess you'll just have to manage without until I have time to throw those awful rags away, hmm?"

Theta meets her eyes behind the goggles and glares, forcing himself not to cough just long enough to make his point. She's not getting anything from him yet.

"Ah well," she sighs. "You'll learn eventually."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, because I spent an inordinate amount of time on Wikipedia for this - the liquid is based of xylene, a compound that is highly flammable and can cause repiratory problems if the gas is inhaled. This is absolutely not for a sinister reason related to the next chapter :)


	14. Day Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla deliberately uses the fumes from a flammable liquid to make it harder for Theta to breathe in hopes of getting him to cooperate that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Is Something Burning? - Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire  
> TW: Fire, burning, suicidal ideation/eagerness for death

The heat is the first thing Theta notices, pulling him back into reality. After Marla finally,  _ finally _ left, taking the soaked, stinking rags with her, he'd allowed himself to slip out of awareness, just for a little while. Not sleeping, not even resting, but closing his eyes and letting his mind wander. It's a brief respite from the pain.

It's subtle, at first, just a slight warmth spreading through the cold air of the lab, but as it grows he can't ignore it. In just a few seconds, he begins to feel warm. A few more, and it's become uncomfortable, bordering on painful as the air becomes hotter and hotter against his skin, burning against the open flesh of his wounds.

He notices the smoke next, tasting it heavy and thick on his tongue, choking down his throat as he breathes in. His already abused lungs protest at the irritation, burning and forcing a bloody cough from him. Theta's eyes fly open, and he immediately closes them again as the smoke stings against them, tears welling up and slipping down his cheeks.

From the brief, hazy glimpse he'd caught, there's a fire burning in the lab. For once, he doesn't think that this is deliberate on Marla's part - it seems to be on the side of the room she actually uses. Frantic, Theta starts tugging at the restraints on his arms, trying to get himself free; though it makes his hand light up with sharp, splintering agony, the urge to  _ get out _ overwhelms anything else.

There's a moment where he pulls, and he feels the restraints scrape across his raw skin, and he thinks that he might just manage it this time. His bones grind together painfully, but compared to the other things he's endured, it barely registers. He pulls harder, straining desperately, and-

A flame licks against his leg, the heat unbearable. Instinct overtakes intellect and he yanks his leg back, bending at the knee so that it's tucked against his chest heedless of his stomach wound, all escape plans briefly forgotten. As if getting loose would do him any good, now; he has nowhere to run.

The fire creeps closer, closer, the air too hot to breathe even if it weren't filled with smoke and every inch of his skin alight with pain. Every gasping, desperate breath burns on the way down. Buried under the roar of the flames, Theta can hear - can  _ feel _ \- the still-wet blood on his skin boiling.

He's going to die like this, Theta realizes. He's going to burn until there's nothing of him left, and he's not going to be able to regenerate because there won't be anything to rebuild. He'll just be gone, ashes and charred flesh and misery all that will remain. It's not a terrible thought, now. Certainly better than his other choices.

His friends will mourn, and that he feels guilty for, but they'll move on. He'll never get a proper funeral - though, Time Lords are meant to be cremated anyways. Not that this is much of a funeral pyre. Renegades' minds aren't uploaded to the Matrix, so this will be a true end.

Spitefully, he's just glad that it will mean Marla won't be able to use him. He hopes the fire spreads, takes down this whole awful house with it. As the blood-stiff fabric of his shirt begins to catch fire, prickling at the skin underneath while it burns away, Theta does his best to relax. At this point, death is a welcome change.


	15. Day Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: an accidental fire starts in Marla's lab, and Theta hopes that dying that way will be permanent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Into The Unknown - Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong  
> TW: suicidal ideation, self-hatred, a bit of victim blaming  
> Theta is Not having a good time.

Theta dies burning, heat and pain and choking smoke the final things he feels before he is gone.

Theta wakes up burning as well, every cell of his body aflame with gold and every nerve alight with the pain of rebirth.

The lab is a charred, destroyed husk of a room; everything destroyed by the fire that has now burnt down to nothing. Glassware melted, wood smoldered to mere embers, the heat of the flames dissipated leaving only aching cold.

Slowly, Theta realizes that he's no longer tied to the table leg - there is no table leg to be tied to, not anymore. Even slower, he notices that his wounds are gone. His stomach is healed, his left hand is whole again, the cuts lacing his arms and legs have closed up.

Or, more accurately, they were never on this body at all. Regeneration is a powerful thing.

"No," he whispers - new voice, lower, the vowels come out different. "No, no, I was supposed to die."

This isn't what he had planned. This isn't how any of this was supposed to happen. Burning to death isn't exactly a pleasant way to go, but it's better than continuing to live in this nightmare. And you're not supposed to regenerate alone - Theta knows that much. There should always be someone you trust nearby, to help with the sickness and the uncertainty that comes after.

He had thought, before being kidnapped, that when he first regenerated it would be with his friends. A peaceful death - or at the very least, a dignified one - and then he would wake back up in a new body surrounded by the people he loves. Instead, his first body died tied to a table, so horribly alone.

Maybe he deserves this. If he had just done something differently, if he had just cooperated with Marla or remembered to steal the keys to the ship or made a run for it earlier or any number of things, he wouldn't be here in this situation.

Apparently, Theta finds, this new body isn't much of a crier. The last him would've been teary-eyed with self-hatred, but this one doesn't seem to do that. More stoic, then; more resilient than the soft, fragile person he'd been before. Whether that's a good thing remains to be seen.

He stands, unsteady, and looks around the room. The stairs are still intact, thankfully, though it takes him a few tries to get to them. With one hand supporting him against the wall, he manages to stagger up them, into the hallway of Marla's house for the first time in… days. Regeneration has addled his sense of time, so he's not sure how many, but far more than it should have been.

There's no sign of Marla in the house. No sign that the fire spread this far, either, so perhaps she'd just gone out. She must get her supplies from somewhere, after all. Theta doesn't really care  _ where _ she's gone, just that he intends to leave before she gets back.

Before he leaves, though, he stops by her kitchen. One time nearly dying of starvation and dehydration was more than enough. As he pulls a loaf of some sort of bread from the cooling unit, Theta realizes that he doesn't exactly have anything to carry it in. His clothes are burnt beyond most functionality and don't fit properly, and it's not as though Marla's left bags lying around.

Maybe she has, and he just hasn't noticed. To make sure, Theta makes a round of the house as quickly as he can, looking for anything to carry his purloined food in. Finally, he settles on cutting up and reusing a sheet from the bed she'd put him in.

Holding the knife to cut the fabric makes his hand tremble, hazy memories of the  _ pain _ of being stabbed at the front of his fuzzy mind, but he manages to cut the sheet down to a more manageable size. His hand slips, once, slicing into his finger as he cuts a long narrow strip of cloth, but a surge of golden warmth repairs the cut like it was never there, before he can even react to the sting.

"That's useful," he mutters. "Wonder how long it'll last."

He continues to wrap up the food, even pouring some water into a glass jar to carry as well. After tying the ends of the fabric together, he fashions the long strip into a strap, and slings it over his shoulder in preparation to leave.

The first step he takes out of the door feels like freedom, like everything he's ever wanted. Maybe dying and being reborn will be enough to get him out of this torturous horror his life has become.  


And then a dead man steps in front of him, and Theta feels his hearts stop.


	16. Day Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta regenerates and is... less than pleased. He gathers supplies to escape while Marla is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - Forced to Bed | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage  
> TW: Hallucinations, guilt, discussions of suicide and murder

Torvic is dead. Torvic has been dead for  _ centuries _ \- Theta made absolutely certain of that. And yet, the man standing in front of him is most certainly Torvic; the same smug face, the same cruel glint in his eyes, the same brown hair that Theta remembers turning clumpy, bloody orange after-

"You're dead," he gasps, stumbling backwards. "You're- no, I burned your body, you're  _ dead. _ "

"Who said burning killed a Time Lord?" Torvic asks, grinning like a skull. "Didn't kill you, did it?"

"You weren't a Time Lord," Theta insists. "A kid, you were just… you were only a little older than us. There's no way you could've regenerated."

He knows that. He'd spent hours watching the body burn, making sure that there was no sign of anything that could possibly bring Torvic back. Then he'd buried the remains under a random tree, and once it was over he and Koschei had cried and snuck back into the Academy and only spoke of it to the others once they were off of Gallifrey.

Nobody had really questioned Torvic's disappearance. He was from a Great House, but not a particularly bright student, nothing outstanding about him. Bound for the military, once he graduated. When the body was never found, it was assumed that he'd run off and gotten himself killed by something in the outside world. It happened every couple decades, and Torvic's House had buried the scandal quickly.

"Feeling guilty, Lungbarrow?" Torvic taunts. "Wish you'd let me kill you and your defect friend?"

Even now, centuries and light years away from Gallifrey and any real relevance such an insult holds, Theta bristles. Any guilt or shock burns away.

"No, I don't," he says coldly. "You deserved it. It was self defense."

Torvic shrugs. "Self defense, murder - same thing. Too bad you couldn't manage suicide, too. Not enough of a Time Lord to die like one, I guess."

Suddenly furious, Theta lunges at Torvic. With a mocking laugh, he sidesteps the attempted attack.

"You only killed me because I was too busy drowning that scrawny, mis-Loomed freak of a shobogan to notice you and your rock, Lungbarrow," he says, still laughing. "Not a chance of that happening now."

Some part of Theta wonders why Torvic hasn't tried to hit him back, yet. As soon as he has the thought, something glints in the other man's hand, and Torvic lunges forward, knife slicing into Theta's stomach. He remembers the pain of  _ that _ all too well, and he grits his teeth as Torvic steps back again, smirking.

"Would you look at that? Wearing Prydonian red again. Too bad you're a renegade, now, so it doesn't mean anything."

One hand pressed over the wound - he can feel the warm, wet blood sticky on his fingers, just like Torvic's was as he slammed the rock down over and over and  _ over _ \- Theta staggers closer. Torvic doesn't move.

"You're not real," Theta says firmly. "You're dead, and this is- a hallucination, or a bad dream. Regeneration sickness. You died and you  _ deserved it _ and I am nothing like you. Now go away."

"What does it say about your mind that it picked me?" not-Torvic asks, still with that horrid grin. "Out of everyone, it picked the boy you murdered in cold blood. Not your friends, not your family. You must be  _ really _ screwed up."

Then the image of Torvic is gone, fading away into nothing. Theta feels his head begin to spin, and suddenly the ground looks so much more comfortable than standing. He hears glass shatter as he drops the pack of food, but barely processes it before he's unconscious.


	17. Day Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta sees a hallucination of Torvic, has some very messy emotions about witnessing the ghost of the first person he killed, and passes out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is I Did Not See That Coming - Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused  
> TW: More gaslighting, violation of privacy but in a timey-wimey way(which does not make it any less awful)  
> Yes this is being posted at 1:30 AM on the 18th but in my defense I was very busy today

It's the same bed as before, when Theta wakes. The same room, the same soft wash of purple over everything, the same grey walls. Half of him wants to relax, remembering how wonderful it was to be in this room after Marla found him; the other, more aware, half has him shooting up in the soft bed with a gasp.

If he's back in the house, then Marla must have returned and found him outside. He'd passed out after- after a regeneration sickness-induced hallucination. Nothing more than that. But now his one chance at escape is gone, and he's trapped here again, and he wants to scream.

Instead, he gets out of the bed and tries the door. Locked, to no surprise. Still, it was worth trying.

Theta paces for a moment, before noticing the window. Maybe he can break the glass and get out that way, he thinks.

There's no latch, no panes, no break in the sheet of glass that he might take advantage of, and it seems fairly thick. Pounding his fists against it only makes them ache, and even though he's long since grown accustomed to far worse pain, it's still unpleasant. A waste of time and energy, both of which he's sure will soon be in short supply. Outside, the blue grass sways tauntingly, just beyond his reach.

Perhaps the lock on the door will be easier to break. Theta makes a good effort at that, slamming his shoulder into where he thinks the lock is - after all, it's not like he can see it - and hoping against hope that it will give. He doesn't remember what type of lock is on the door; he hadn't looked when he'd had the chance. For all he knows, it could be a chain, or a magnetic lock, or something else that he won't be able to break with physical force. How stupid of him, how arrogant to think that he'd actually get free.

Is it even worth escaping any more? He has nowhere to go, now. No chance of grabbing food and water before he could leave, which only means more of the gnawing pain in his stomach, more of the delirium of dehydration. More death, more regeneration. Would his friends even recognize him if he made it back to them somehow?

Would they want to?

Theta sighs, steps away from the door, and sits down on the edge of the bed. As he reaches up by habit to run his hands through his hair, he realizes that this new hair is shorter, straighter. He'd liked his curls, before, but he doesn't mind the change. It's more practical, especially if - no,  _ once, _ it's an inevitability at this point - Marla begins using new and cruel ways to torture him. It won't get as matted with blood and dirt.

As if summoned by the mere thought, the door opens and Marla steps in. She gives him a cursory glance, as if making sure that he's in the same condition as when she put him in the room. After closing the door behind her, the magnetic lock securing itself with a faint click, she walks up to Theta.

"This is what happens when you don't listen," she chides. "You've ruined my lab, and if you'd actually got out in this state you would've been worse off than when I first found you. You barely made it past the door, poor thing. Why didn't you just wait in the living room until I got back?"

She almost sounds like she cares. Her hand reaches out to pat him on the leg, and he inches backwards before she can. Marla frowns, but doesn't try again. Small mercies.

"You were saying all sorts of things when I found you," she continues. "Asking for someone called… oh, what was the name? Koschei?"

No. No, surely he wasn't, he was passed out and he doesn't talk in his sleep. Or maybe that's changed with this body, too. Theta tries to keep his face neutral.

"No idea who that is," he lies.

"Really?" Marla asks. "Because to me, it sounded an awful lot like you were close. Friends, even. And we both know Time Lords don't make friends with lesser species, so I suppose they must be another Time Lord."

He rolls his eyes, ignoring the fear curdling in his gut. "Is there a point to this?"

"Oh, yes. You've been holding out on me. There's more young renegades just running about the universe, aren't there?" When he doesn't reply, she shifts tactics. "I can find out where they are, you know. I could give a little  _ tug _ to your timeline and see what else reacts."

She tilts her head, as if concentrating, and then something slimy and horrible trails along Theta's timelines, past and present and future without a care for what it mucks up along the way. It brushes across every second of his life, prying and pressing and breaking every law and common decency of Time as it goes. Everything in his mind wants to get away from the sensation but he  _ can't, _ it's his  _ timeline, _ and all he can do is curl into himself and shudder. Bile rises in his throat as she plucks at the thread, like a spider in a web, and he can feel his friends' own threads resonate in response.

Marla smiles. "There we go. Now, what have we learned about keeping secrets?"

Theta can't speak, his skin still crawling at the violation and his timelines still trying to repair themselves. He can feel tiny details shifting just from her interference, squirming away from the  _ wrongness _ of it. The color of a shirt, the time between blinks of his eyes, whether he greeted Millennia or Drax first one morning. Tiny fractures, adding up to no important difference, but changing nonetheless.

Marla leaves. Theta doesn't try to escape. The fractures settle.


	18. Day Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: after passing out just outside Marla's house, Theta wakes up in the same bedroom as he did when Marla first found him. She reveals that she now knows about the rest of the Deca, courtesy of Theta's hallucination/delirium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Panic! At The Disco - Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia  
> TW: panic attack, self-hatred, victim blaming, just a general Bad Mental Time for Theta

Somehow, it's worse now that he isn't tied up. Being able to pace the scant few meters of the room is more miserable than being forced to sit, unmoving, for days. At least then he'd been able to tug at his restraints. Now, Theta walks the length of the window, back and forth, over and over again until his feet ache and his legs burn from the repetition. Four average-length strides will take him all the way along the wall, turn, four strides back across. Day becomes night becomes day again - thirteen hours and fourteen minutes to each, nearly to the second. Theta continues to pace.

Marla doesn't come in again. He's not surprised, really; she wants to wear him down first. He can feel her doing horrible things to the Web of Time, even at a distance. Forcing small paradoxes into existence only to remove them again, tugging at pieces of timelines until they begin to fray and splinter along the edges, and always, always searching for more Time Lords.

Guilt is an emotion for uncivilized shobogans, not Academy graduates from Great Houses. Theta hadn't actually told Marla anything, and thus it wasn't his fault that she found out about the others. Still, it scratches at the back of his mind, an insistent, constant reminder that if Marla ever does find his friends it will be his fault.

His fault for being too weak, his fault for not being able to escape, his fault for not keeping his stupid mouth shut. They would be right to blame him, once they get captured as well. Because surely, surely they will now - Marla can find them, because Theta helped her do it.

In his last body, he would likely be in tears at this point. Now, he just keeps pacing. Four paces across, turn, four paces back.

They'll all hate him, once it happens. Stupid, useless Theta Sigma, always the slowest of the group, and now he'll have gotten them all captured and tortured forever. And he'll have to watch it, over and over as they die and regenerate and die again, and he  _ knows _ that it'll stop after they hit twelve but somehow that's worse. At least if he's watching them regenerate, then they'll still be alive. Once they hit the end of their energy, though, once it's all burned up or stolen or just a well drained dry, he'll lose them permanently and  _ that's worse. _

It's the sort of thing he had nightmares about, back when he was able to sleep. Before all of this happened. If he fell asleep without one of them near him, near enough to feel their hearts and know that they were okay, he would wake up screaming, terrified that they were gone. Sometimes, even with one or two or nine of his friends surrounding him, he would still jolt awake, scared out of his mind that they were gone and he was just imagining it and that he would wake up for  _ real _ at any moment to an empty room.

Now that he's experienced that - several times over, even - he knows exactly how bad it is. His nightmares have nothing on reality, now. But he still can't shake the creeping guilt and fear as he paces. Four paces across, turn, four paces back.

Four paces across.

_ It's all his fault, it's all his fault, it's all his fault. _

Turn.

_ Maybe he deserves this, maybe this should've happened years ago. _

Four paces back.


	19. Day Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta has a panic attack, still trapped in Marla's house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Broken Hearts - Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt  
> TW: unhealthy/codependent relationships, poor coping methods for emotional trauma  
> I saw the theme name and knew what this one was going to be from the very beginning!

Five weeks, four days, seventeen hours, forty-six minutes, and eight seconds have passed since Theta went missing. One moment, he had been draping himself over Drax, complaining about the weather, and the next… the next, his mind had gone dark, and Theta was gone.

Koschei has been obsessively -  _ methodically, _ he calls it, but Millennia knows better - searching, planet by planet, galaxy by galaxy. He blames himself. They all do.

She wishes she could say that some of them are handling it better than others, but none of them are exactly coping well. They're a group, a single unit, not meant to be separated. The ten of them against Gallifrey and the universe and  _ everything _ side by side. Without Theta, without that link in their chain, they're falling apart.

Magnus and Rallon got into a screaming match several days ago while they were scanning yet another star system for any sign of Time Lord life, a cruel thing about how maybe if  _ someone _ had been looking, they might have more leads, and there had nearly been a fistfight. Ushas rarely emerges from her lab anymore, spending days on end with the door locked, her eyes red from exhaustion when she does leave. Vansell has gotten gloomier than usual, sarcastic and harsh when he speaks. Mortimus stress-creates, bouncing listlessly from hobby to hobby in a thinly-veiled attempt to try to cheer everyone up. It doesn't work; even Drax is getting frustrated, slamming doors and working for hours on the TARDIS' scanners, insisting that there must be something wrong with them.

Millennia does her best to hold the splintering pieces of her family together. She doesn't bother pretending to be positive, or trying to act like this is just another one of their adventures that went a little too far. But she makes Koschei sleep, she lets Magnus and Rallon vent to her, she brings Ushas food, she pulls Vansell into firm hugs, she keeps Mortimus company, and she makes sure Drax has the parts he needs.

The pressure is slowly getting to her, and she knows it isn't healthy, but it's the only way she can keep them all from collapsing in on each other in a black hole of fury and grief and anguish. Mortimus helps, not needing anything more from her than her presence in the same room while he knits, or bakes, or any number of other things. She loves them, all of them, but she's so grateful for the break from juggling everyone's emotions.

"I just don't know how long we're going to last like this," she admits, watching Mortimus slice Raxicoricofallapatorian vegetables with vitriol. "We need him."

None of them dare speak Theta's name aloud most of the time. There's too much fear of slipping into a past tense, and it always makes Koschei flinch.

"He's got to be okay," Mortimus says, only half in response. It's become a mantra.  _ He's got to be okay, we're going to find him, it's just a matter of time. _

She sighs. "I know, but how long will it take for  _ us _ to be okay again?"

A bitter, short laugh comes in reply. "Have we ever been?"

No, Millenia thinks. No, they haven't. There's a reason they stuck together as kids, and a reason they're travelling together now, and it's not one that's  _ sane _ or  _ good _ or  _ okay. _ She studied non-Gallifreyan psychology, after they left, and codependency shares the same shape across the galaxy. But it's a little too late to get out of it now, with their entire lives and selves built around each other. Theta's disappearance has made that much clear; if losing just one person was enough to send them all spiraling into disaster, then she dreads the thought of what would happen if they tried to separate. She dreads the thought of what Theta's going through.

He's going to be okay, in the end. They're going to find him. It's just a matter of time.


	20. Day Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: a look into how the rest of the Deca are handling things(poorly. The answer is poorly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is I Don't Feel So Well - Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection  
> TW: extreme cold, purposeful neglect

The season has begun to change. Theta can see it in the movements of the stars when he stares out the window, and he can feel it in the chill slipping into the room he's trapped in. More often than not, the temperature dips low enough at night to make him shiver. Of course, the bed is fairly bare; a light set of sheets that do nothing to protect from the chill, and no more.

At least Marla has been… well, certainly not  _ kind, _ but beneficent enough to bring Theta food on a more regular basis. Despite the burning of her lab, a horrible new enthusiasm drives her, now - the search for his friends. She still indulges herself in petty tortures every so often, which Theta takes the brunt of, but at least he doesn't have to fear starvation or dehydration on a daily basis.

But of course, bringing blankets or some other source of warmth would be pushing into consideration, and so Theta's room remains freezing cold overnight. Originally, when the temperature had first started to drop, he'd just paced more, desperate to keep himself warm that way. After a few days of that, though, he's learned that it only wastes energy.

Gallifrey - or at least the parts of Gallifrey that he grew up in - isn't a cold planet. Everything is carefully climate-controlled, kept at a steady, comfortable temperature. Theta's never had to truly bear the brunt of a seasonal change before. The occasional one- or two-day trip to a snow-capped planet, when he could prepare properly and leave at any time, is in no way comparable to this bone-deep cold that seeps through the air.

He finds himself missing his long hair again, as he curls into a tight ball on the mattress, sheets pulled off the bed and wrapped tightly around him in a desperate attempt to ward off the chill. The single pillow he has is pressed over his face and neck, but his ears are still numb.

Theta once read about frostbite, about the horrible things extreme cold can do to living tissue. Blackened skin, appendages losing blood and dying while still attached to the body, or the water in a creature's cells freezing and killing them from that alone. It had sounded positively barbaric, like some ancient torture method. Now, it's sounding more and more likely.

He's probably overreacting, he knows. Time Lords are built to withstand extreme conditions, and it gets warm enough during the daylight hours to keep the temperatures bearable. But those scant few hours are getting shorter and shorter every day; even just a few seconds of difference adds up after a while. And Theta's sure he's going to be here a while.

He shifts the pillow, warm with his breath, so that it's over his ears for a moment. The biting chill against his newly-bared skin makes him hiss and recoil, though there isn't exactly anywhere to recoil  _ to. _ Even ducking his head down so that his chin rests against his chest doesn't do much to mitigate the cold against his neck. However, he  _ really _ doesn't want to find out what frostbite feels like ears-first, so he keeps the pillow where it is until he can feel the pricking of blood flow in them again. Then he moves the pillow again, back over his face and neck.

Three more hours, plus a few minutes, and then day will cycle back around and he'll be warm - or at least, not freezing - for a little while longer. Marla will bring him another meal and comment about how there might be snow soon, and wouldn't that look so pretty? and never even offer to bring him a blanket.

She would, if he asked. Theta's almost sure of it. A thick, fluffy duvet, even; warm and soft and perfect for keeping away the cold. He's certain she's got one somewhere, just waiting for him to bring it up. All it would cost him is further betrayal of his friends, or a little bit of his regeneration energy, or some help tearing the Web of Time to shreds in pursuit of her absurd end goal.

He'd rather bear the cold.


	21. Day Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta tries to handle the changing seasons. Poorly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? - Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawl  
> TW: emotional manipulation, drugged food

Usually, Marla brings food once every day, or thereabouts. It's never enough for Theta to truly feel full - he's long since grown used to the dull ache in his stomach - but it's enough to keep him functional. Today, though, she enters his room with a full tray, piled high with fruits, bread, meat, and even a steaming mug full of something that smells  _ wonderful. _ He doesn't trust it at all.

"What's the occasion?" he asks, as she sets the tray down on the bed. "Found a new way to put the entire existence of the universe at risk?"

"You really are quite rude, you know," Marla tuts. "At least say thank you."

"Or what? You won't feed me?" Raising his eyebrows, he continues, "Most people consider  _ that _ rude, too."

It's risky, pushing her buttons like this. Some days, it only results in disdain and treating him like a disobedient child; others, he gets to experience all sorts of new torture methods. Still, it's one of the few small ways Theta can fight back, and he'll take that chance.

She huffs, as though he's offended her. One of the former days, rather than the latter, then. "You ought to be grateful I even bothered to make this for you. It would be an awful shame to have to toss it out just because you're feeling a little upset."

A little bit of his dignity and the chance to spite her, or a filling meal that might make the next few days more bearable. Theta weighs the options for a moment, but… it's getting colder each night, meaning he's burning more calories, and he's going to need the food.

"Thank. You." he manages, teeth gritted.

Marla smiles. "See, that really wasn't too hard, was it? Go ahead, eat up."

She nudges the tray towards him. Cautiously, with trembling fingers, Theta plucks a piece of warm bread off the plate. He stuffs it in his mouth in one bite, only chewing after the fact. It's soft, a little sweet, and the best thing he's eaten in  _ weeks. _

Sense says to eat slowly, to not upset his stomach. The hunger gnawing at his insides urges him to swallow it down as fast as he can. He tries to find a middle ground, forcing himself to pause between morsels. Still, the tray is nearly empty in mere minutes.

"You'll make yourself sick," Marla chides.

He ignores her. Like she cares about his wellbeing - if he dies, that's a free source of Artron energy for her. The last few pieces of fruit go down slower, though.

Finally, he moves on to the mug, still hot enough to burn against his chilly fingers. The pain barely compares to some of the things he's faced, but he still flinches, his hand knocking the drink backwards.

Marla catches it, not letting a single drop fall out. "Careful."

Theta eyes her, the faintest coil of suspicion in his gut. Then he sighs; if she had some sinister purpose with the mug, she has no reason to hide it. It's not as though he has much of a choice, in the end. If Marla really wanted him to drink it, he would eventually end up drinking it, one way or another.

He waits for it to cool slightly, regretting the fact that he scarfed down his food so quickly. It would've given him something to do with his hands while he sits, instead of just twisting his fingers around each other. Part of him expects Marla to say something, but she remains relievingly silent.

After a minute, he tests the surface of the mug again. It's still warm to the touch, but not burningly so. Delicately, he lifts it to his lips and takes a sip.

There's an almost earthy, spicy taste to it, something that burns as he swallows. Almost like ginger, but he did more than enough ill-advised drinking at the Academy to recognize that taste, and this isn't quite it. It spreads a nice, pleasant warmth through his body, the first truly comforting thing that he's experienced in this place. He takes another sip, then another, until all that remains are the dregs.

"Did you enjoy it?" Marla asks, perfectly cordial.

He maintains a stony silence, despite her frown.

The warmth intensifies, crossing over from coziness to discomfort. His hearts pick up their pace, ratcheting from a steady rhythm to a frenzied drumbeat. His vision swims, suddenly blurring and scattered with black spots.

The mug slips from his hand, rolling off the bed and shattering as it hits the hard floor.


	22. Day Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla brings Theta a nicer meal than usual, and he has a reaction to something he ate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is one of the alternate prompts - Adverse Reaction  
> TW: Drugged food, bad reactions to that(specifically something similar to dissociating)

Ceramic meets stone with a crash, the mug breaking into pieces as Theta hunches over, dizzied. He barely even processes the collision, his hearing gone fuzzy. Like he's stuffed his ears with cotton, though he knows it's really just the rapid-fire pounding of his hearts. Thoughts flit through his mind too quickly to grasp,  _ everything _ is simultaneously too fast and too slow to comprehend and he can hear his own harsh, panting breaths like he's in an echo chamber but everything else is drowned out.

It feels a bit like dying, like the rush of adrenaline just before a leap of faith. It feels like he's being torn apart by his own body, blood too hot and vision spinning and hearts too, too fast. For a moment, he thinks that Marla poisoned him, and a panic-tinged memory points out that she'd been so insistent that he drink the liquid in the mug now broken on the floor. Like ginger, he'd thought as he'd drank it, but not quite. This feels nothing like the hazy inebriation of ginger, but the tiny, rational sliver that remains of his coherent mind notes that it could be something similar. Just a few tiny chemical variances between the two, if he's right, and yet it makes such a difference.

His time sense must be affected, because it insists that only a few seconds have passed since the mug hit the floor and yet it feels like  _ hours. _ Or maybe it hasn't been, maybe everything inside his head is just going at the speed of light while everything else lags behind at a reasonable, healthy pace. It certainly feels that way, as he takes another sharp breath in.

Through spotted vision, he sees Marla lean down, so very slowly to his eyes, to pick up the pieces of the mug. She doesn't notice his ragged breathing, or the way it feels like his hearts want to break out of his chest, or the way he can't keep his fingers still. No, he corrects - she notices, he's sure of it. She just doesn't  _ care. _ More worried about the mug than his reaction to whatever she's drugged him with.

It must be strong, whatever it is, to make him react so violently, so quickly. Distantly, above the pounding of his hearts and the other overwhelming sensations, Theta wonders how she found out what would affect him. Biodata on Time Lords isn't exactly readily available - they've made quite sure of that - and she hasn't tried drugging him up until now, so she must have found a new source of information.

As he tries to occupy his rushing, racing mind with  _ why _ she would want such knowledge, it hits him. He's the test run for later, for once she's found his friends. The thought sends a cold shiver of awareness and dread down his spine, and it's enough to gather the scattered pieces of his mind into coherency.

His heart rate is still picking up, he knows. The dosage, whatever purpose she intends it for in the future, was too high. It probably won't kill him, simply because, given the two hearts, Time Lords are built to withstand high blood pressure; more than likely, he'll pass out in a few moments, and that will be the end of it. Still, he almost would rather she had gotten the dosage right the first time. Now he'll have to endure further tests as she corrects it to just the right level.

Precisely ten seconds after the mug hits the ground and shatters, the spots clouding Theta's vision take over entirely, and everything goes dark.


	23. Day Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta's bad reaction to the drink continues, and he blacks out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is What's A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here? - Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation  
> No big TWs today, but expect the usual level of Marla being awful

The darkness enveloping Theta isn't the restfulness of sleep, unfortunately. He's not that lucky. It's only temporary unconsciousness, a few seconds at most, before his vision clears again. His ears are ringing, mouth suddenly  _ terribly _ dry.

"Well, that's interesting," Marla remarks.

He'd nearly forgotten about her for a moment, in the haze of strange, sticky unawareness. But she's still seated at the end of his bed, the broken pieces of the mug now lain on the tray along with the empty plate. The clinical curiosity in her eyes as she looks at him makes his stomach churn. Or perhaps that's the too-rich food filling it, now, eaten far too quickly in his desperation.

"What was that?" he demands, ignoring the way his own voice sounds distorted in his ears. "What did you give me?"

"A Ipsthegian tea blend," she replies. "I'm quite fond of it myself. I certainly didn't anticipate such… dramatic effects."

Theta stares blankly at her. It takes his brains a few slow, baffled seconds to process the sincerity of her words. He'd been so certain that the drugging was intentional, that she'd been doing it specifically to hurt him. Somehow, it's almost worse that, when he began to react to it, she cared more about the broken mug than him. Not  _ surprising, _ really, because the woman has been deliberately torturing him for weeks now, but still worse to realize.

"I suppose I'll take my leave, now." Marla stands. "I'll be back to check on you if it seems necessary."

_ If you start to die, _ she doesn't say, but Theta hears it anyways. There's just a faint hint of eagerness in her tone, hoping that it'll happen. She seems to have given up on more direct, immediately painful methods of drawing out his Artron energy, but he knows she's hardly going to pass up a chance to take it while he regenerates; especially after missing her first opportunity.

Marla leaves, taking the tray with her, and Theta leans back against the mattress, hoping to get a little rest before night hits and he has to spend it shivering and freezing. He closes his eyes, even putting the pillow under his head and drawing the sheets up around him. Breaths even out, hearts slow down, thoughts go soft and undefined at the edges, and yet he remains awake. He tries laying the other way, to no avail.

With a frustrated groan, he flips over again, back to the first side. He's ready to sleep, his whole body is beginning to ache in the aftermath of his reaction to the tea, and yet he can't quite get there.

Perhaps it's some residual effect of the tea, or perhaps he's just horribly unlucky. Theta isn't sure which - knowing his track record these past weeks, it's both.

He's too bone-deep exhausted to even pace like he normally would, walking those tauntingly small four steps in front of the window over and over. If he tried to stand, he's pretty sure his legs would give up on principle, and he wouldn't even have the energy to pull himself back up onto the bed. All he can bear to do is lay there, so tired that his very cells burn with it, and stare into the darkness.

It would be easy to let his mind wander to all the ways he could have done things differently, all the ways he might have escaped if he hadn't been such a fool. The thoughts torment him regardless of time, have carved out a place in his mind to live permanently. Just another part of the misery of his existence, these days.

Sighing, though no one can hear it, Theta flips onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. It's still light out, still illuminated in gentle, awful purple. If he were to sit up, he could see out the window at the stretch of blue grass and grey stone pillars, ever onwards towards the horizon. The sight makes him sick, now. Freedom, stopped by a few infinite inches of glass.

He wants to sleep. He wants to think of anything but here and now for a little while; even nightmares would be preferable to this. Horrible dreams of losing everyone, of dying over and over, of finding his friends again only for them to hate him - any of that would be a relief right now, so long as it meant rest.

Theta closes his eyes and tries to relax. He has a sinking feeling it's going to be a long, painful night.


	24. Day Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta can't fall asleep after his reaction to the drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is You're Not Making Any Sense - Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation, which I decided to take a little more literally than was probably intended  
> Again, no TWs outside of Marla's usual manipulation and cruelty; this is more setup for the next few prompts than whump on its own

He'd never questioned how Marla spoke Gallifreyan. It was, to be frank, the least of his many, many problems in this awful house. When his concerns were more on the scale of whether or not he would eat, or die of a stab wound, or be burned to death… the puzzle of how his torturer communicated with him wasn't one he'd spent much mental force on at first, and by the time Theta had enough free time to waste on such ponderances, it had faded to the background of his mind.

When whatever she's using stops working, however, it becomes much higher priority.

That morning, she comes in, the same as always, with a small plate of food and a glass of water. After whatever mysterious occasion had spurred the proper breakfast, and the resulting… incident, Marla returned to bland meals. Given how poorly he'd reacted to the tea, and how horribly upset his stomach had been in the following days from the richness of the food, Theta doesn't complain. Not that he would anyway - he doesn't want to give her any sort of power over him that she doesn't already have.

He braces for some gratingly cheerful comment, or some hint about what he could be enjoying if he just gave up his free will and let her use him as a living battery, and instead gets gibberish. Gratingly cheerful, as expected, but entirely incomprehensible. It takes him a moment to realize, even, that what she said was making no sense.

Marla must interpret his frown and head tilt as confusion regarding what she meant, as she repeats the string of nonsense. That's when it hits him. Her translator - because  _ of course _ she didn't actually speak Gallifreyan, no one except native Gallifreyans does - must have broken. It's not exactly as though she seems to have a bustling social life, so she won't have noticed.

Theta isn't sure if it's better or worse, not being able to understand her. Her manipulative, passive-aggressive comments will dig less sharply into his mind, but he won't be able to brace for whatever new pain she's engineered. He'll be flying completely blind.

His habit of silence has consequences; she takes the lack of response as a slight, not genuine lack of understanding. Her face twists, and she picks the tray of food back up and stands. It must be one of the days where she doesn't bother with the  _ passive _ and jumps straight to the  _ aggressive. _

When she leaves, snapping something Theta still can't comprehend, the door slams shut behind her. His blood runs cold with the certainty that she'll be back soon enough, with some agonizing plan to inflict upon him. The part of him that still panics at that thought wants to beg and plead the moment she returns, try to get the point across that it's not his fault. He squashes the impulse down. It wouldn't matter if it was his fault or not; she's looking for an excuse, not a real reason. If she wanted a  _ reason, _ she would have to face the fact that her only purpose in treating him like this is to be sadistic and cruel. Hiding behind the excuses, the unexplained standards and impossible demands, she can pretend that he deserves this.


	25. Day Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla's translator she's been using to speak Gallifreyan stops working

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks - Disorientation | Ringing Ears | Blurred Vision  
> TW: Timeline-based torture

Marla doesn't come back for nearly half an hour, which only gives Theta more time to wonder what's coming. She doesn't usually resort to physical violence these days, but without knowing what exactly he'd 'refused', he can't be sure that this time will be the same. Her actions are hard enough to predict on a good day when he can understand what she's saying. Feigned kindness flips to cruelty so easily.

When she does return, he can  _ feel _ timelines warping around her. That never bodes well; her timeline experiments always leave Theta exhausted and sick. She seems to take an especially vicious pleasure in tearing the threads of Time apart and watching him react. Worst of all, he can't just do the equivalent of shutting his eyes or covering his ears - the flow of Time is written into his very cells. It beats alongside his hearts, surrounds him like the air he breathes, and when she manipulates that, he can't escape it.

She says something, probably some justification for why she's doing this, but the words mean nothing to him. He hasn't spoken to her, so she doesn't know that her translator is broken. There's some dramatic irony there about communication, he thinks, distantly and bitterly amused. It's a two-way street, after all.

The door clicks shut behind her, but she doesn't come any closer to him. Not that she needs to, not for this kind of torture.

Theta can taste it when she gives a testing pull on his timeline. He still hasn't quite figured out  _ how _ she's manipulating them with just her mind, but it certainly makes this particular type of sickening wrongness more portable. She creeps her presence further up along one branch, one possible future where he stays trapped here forever until existence unravels around him as a result of Marla's experimentations. His stomach churns as she looks closer, prying into the details, and he can feel that possibility solidifying to make that possible.

Probability shifts, ever so slightly, and the likelihood of that branch becoming reality for him increases. The more details are known, the further set in stone that sequence of events becomes. It's risky business, particularly if the known details conflict with the primary timeline; that's the sort of thing that brings about paradoxes.

Marla pushes further along that strand, and everything  _ twists. _ Theta bites down painfully hard on the inside of his cheek, trying not to scream as he feels Time rebel against the force, tearing along his timeline. He can feel himself becoming unmoored from reality, a temporal impossibility, as a backlash of potential existences press against his senses.

Hundreds of thousands of conflicting realities pour into his mind as he tastes blood in his mouth. Times where he was never Loomed, where it happened years earlier or later, where he never met his friends, where he never left Gallifrey, where he left alone. That last one seems to be the final push against the dam holding back every possibility in the universe, and Theta loses all sense of Time as he's hit with a flood of could-have-beens. Death and paradoxes and reckless adventures and Time breaking under the strain of blood and hatred and horrible, horrible war cloud every thought.

When Marla pulls back, away from tampering with that one now-snapped thread of reality, Theta is still reeling. His hearts are pounding, ears ringing - not that it matters if he can hear her, at this point - and his mind exhausted and confused. Even pressing a curious thought against the gaping, bloody mental wound where his sense of time is makes him want to cry from the pain.

As he so often has, since entering this living hell apparently so inherent to his timeline that every version of himself he would recognize as  _ himself _ must endure it, Theta faints.


	26. Day Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla's deliberate timeline manipulation causes backlash for Theta's sense of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad... - Migraine | Concussion | Blindness  
> TW: unreality, sensory overload, a very little bit of self-harm

Consciousness comes slowly, reluctantly, through a haze of memories that never will have happened. Infinitely manifold lives play out across Theta's synapses; a first-person voyeuristic replay of events, new variables taken in and out of play each time. It's temporally disorienting, to put it mildly, and he isn't even sure how long he's been unconscious when he wakes.

As he forces his eyes open, at first he thinks he's going to throw up. Everything around him is superimposed on itself, like a bad Earth 3D movie, his vision taking in too much of everything all at once. His brains ache, and he quickly shuts his eyes again.

It's an aftereffect of his timeline being meddled with, he knows that much. He's seeing fragments of other timelines, just slightly different from the one he resides in, and he can't handle both the visual and temporal overload at once. Just the one is unpleasant enough - his time sense was already frayed and raw before he awoke to this.

For a long, long moment, he just lays there on the mattress, hoping that the temporal melding will abate. The stinging, prickling sensation in his mind that he usually associates with his time sense fades a little, or, at the very least, he grows more used to it. Theta makes the mistake of mentally prodding at that part of him, just to see if it's improved any, and nausea shoots down his spine. Just as battered as before, then.

One version of himself, slightly to the left, must have decided to deal with the pain, because there's a rather abrupt sensation of sight, without ever opening his eyes. He isn't  _ seeing, _ not really, but his brains are processing the information without ever truly receiving it, and that's a headache unto itself. The general impression of the too-familiar furnishings of the room presses itself to his mind, dizzying and making goosebumps rise on his skin.

Another version throws up from it. He feels the churning of his stomach, the burn of bile up his throat, and the heaving of his stomach as he leans over the edge of the bed. Knowing that it's not  _ him _ doing it doesn't help.

Or, at least, he's fairly sure it's not him, and he's fairly sure that he's curled up on the mattress clutching his knees to his chest. He can't tell, he can't distinguish any of the dozens of timelines pushing insistently at his senses from the one he's living. Nails dig into the flesh of his arms and his palms and his thighs, hands drag down his face and through his hair and curl into fists and tighten around his knees and surely, one of those sensations is him.

He starts crying - rather, he feels tears slip down his cheeks, but he thinks if he were to lift a hand to check, his face would be dry. At least of tears; he thinks that, a few more changed decisions to the right, there's a trickle of blood running down from a cut above his eye. Though moving hurts, sends his mind spinning, he does check. Only dry skin, despite the conflicting sensations his mind is processing.

One of him bites down on his index finger, an old habit from Academy days he'd been so sure he kicked after Mortimus told Theta that it made him worry. The uncertain knowledge that at least  _ he _ isn't doing the worst out of all of his other mirror-image selves is a cold comfort.

Slowly, over the course of a strangely uncountable amount of time, the other sensations begin to fade. The pressure and pain in his mind does not, but really, Theta never thought he'd be that lucky. A migraine driving painful spikes into his brains is the baseline of existence for him, now. At least he can open his eyes without wanting to scream, even if his sense of Time is still useless for anything but hurting. He'll take it.


	27. Day Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta deals with the temporal backlash from Marla's meddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is Okay, Who Had Natural Disasters On Their 2020 Bingo Card? - Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage  
> TW: extreme cold, suicidal ideation

In the haze of temporal unsteadiness and his throbbing migraine, Theta had almost been able to forget about the weather. The cold had seeped into his bones already, and with his eyes shut tight against the overlapping, conflicting images, he doesn't see the blizzard until it's already hit.

When he opens his eyes, the window has nearly half a meter of fluffy snow covering the bottom of it. The sky is still grey with thick, heavy clouds, and snow is still flurrying to the ground. A sharp taste has slipped into the air, undefinable but distinctly  _ cold. _ Theta can feel every inhale prickling against his throat, stinging with it.

He  _ can't _ feel his toes, he realizes. They've gone completely numb. Sluggishly, still not quite aware, he sits up and wraps the thin sheets around him. Tucking his feet under him in an attempt to keep them warm, he stares blankly out the window.

It's the first time he's seen proper snowfall. Planets already capped in snow, he's seen a dozen times, but he's never watched the ground go from bare to blanketed in white before. There's a cold, serene beauty to it; the sort of thing Ushas would like. The sort of thing he would've liked to see with her and the others.

His teeth chatter as he breathes in again, more freezing air stinging his lungs. The sheets don't provide much warmth, leaving him cold inside and out. He's not built for this, he thinks as he tugs the fabric tighter to his skin. Twin suns make for warmer weather, and that he could handle, but this slow chill might kill him.

If he concentrates, he imagines that he can feel the water beginning to solidify in his cells, jagged shards of ice starting to form. It's certainly cold enough for it; the stone walls only barely negate the outside temperature.

The feeling of his blankly open eyes stinging painfully from the freezing air is undeniably real. Theta wonders if it's even possible for his eyes to freeze solid like this, just from the burning cold.

He's so tired. Every thought comes slowly, now, fighting through the frost sinking into his blood, and it would be so easy to just fall asleep and die like this. Peaceful. Poetic, even. One death by fire, one by the cold. There's a symmetry to it that he quite likes, when the idea manages to occur to him.

Even slower comes the thought that he doesn't want to die, more out of spite than anything else. He doesn't want to help Marla, doesn't want to give her an opportunity to get his regeneration energy. And since he clearly lacks the self-control to will himself to stay dead, as evidenced by the fact that he's  _ still here, _ then he'll just have to stay alive.

The sheets are pulled as tightly around him as they can get, but Theta shifts his hold on them regardless. It doesn't help. It doesn't even make him feel better. All it does is remind him that he may not have a choice in whether he lives or dies or regenerates. Marla's had dozens of chances to kill him and force a regeneration by now, and the only reason she has yet to do so is because she likes watching him suffer. He can claim to live out of spite all he likes, but that will hardly make a difference.

Theta sighs, the puff of air fogging out in front of his lips, and shivers. He'd almost prefer the void of space to this. At least then he would freeze to death near-instantly.


	28. Day Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: a blizzard hits, and Theta has a hard time handling it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is another alternate prompt - Presumed Dead  
> TW: Murder, Marla's justifications for her own behaviors

Contrary to what she knows her guest thinks, Marla doesn't spend all of her time meddling with, well,  _ time. _ She has other projects to attend to; after all, it's not as though she's being funded to try to uncover the secrets of the Time Lords and use the results against them. No, she does  _ that _ out of her own pocket. Thus, she runs experiments for a bioengineering company, and checks in on her houseguest and her personal projects when she can.

Though most days, he barely does more than pace around the room, Marla keeps a security camera in her guest's room, and an Artron energy sensor, just in case something should happen to him. It would be a terrible pity to miss out on another chance for gathering data.

Thus, as she works in her newly-refurbished lab, she keeps an eye on the camera feed. After the rather unfortunate incident several hours ago with the timelines - and she can't  _ wait _ to examine the implications of that later - he hasn't moved. Advanced temporal senses too overwhelmed, if she had to guess. Retribution, after a fashion, for the hubris of the Time Lords.

He's so still, in fact, that it really only hits her after she's finished with her work that he might be dying. The clouds heavy in the sky just before she came down to work promised thick snow, and he's been far too prideful to ask for more blankets. According to rumors, Gallifrey is a hot planet, warmed by two suns, and there's no chance that the freezing weather is in any way a comfort to him. If he had only asked, Marla would have been happy to give him some warmer blankets; instead, he suffered in silence. He only has himself to blame, really.

And now he's paying for it. Marla's seen people unprepared for the cold of B-73-Alpha die from hypothermia before, and despite the difference in biology, the signs are distinctive. The faint shivers that had previously wracked his body are no more, replaced only by the stillness of death. She doesn't know how well even two hearts can pump blood that's frozen solid, but she would quite like to learn.

On her way up from her lab, Marla grabs a portable medical scanner, her Artron energy storage device, and the lovely knife she'd used oh so long ago to test her initial theory on Artron energy release. If he is beyond help, there's no reason to draw the death out when she could instead be making scientific progress.

The guest bedroom, when she unlocks the magnetic hold and steps inside, is quite chilly. She's dressed for it in thermal layers, but without such protection, she's hardly surprised that her guest isn't faring well. He doesn't even seem cognisant of when she enters. His eyes are shut tight against the cold air, pale fingers clenching tightly at the sheets wrapped around him, and she can't see his shoulders moving for breaths.

Marla doesn't bother to greet him - he'd been so  _ rude _ earlier, so she hardly sees the point - and moves closer, palming the knife in her hand. One quick slice across the throat should do it, and then she'll be perfectly in position to siphon off some of the Artron energy as he regenerates.

Closer, closer, until she's standing at the side of the bed. Just to make sure, she pulls out the medical scanner to check for any signs of life. Much to her surprise, there's a faint doubled pulse, barely enough for the scanner to pick up; slow, too, only once every few seconds.

If she tried, perhaps she could keep him alive. She could play doctor, warm him up and do her best to bring him back from the icy brink of death.

Instead, she tucks the scanner back into her pocket and slits his throat. Quick, efficient, and clean, though the blood that flows out comes in a sluggish trickle. Hardly shocking, given the temperature.

The Artron levels in the room skyrocket, and a harsh, golden light begins to rise from the body. Marla smiles. Finally, some progress.


	29. Day Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Marla finds Theta nearly dead from the cold, and decides to help things along a little bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is I Think I Need A Doctor - Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest  
> TW: Restraints, the start of a panic attack

There's something down his throat. That's the first thing Theta notices, before the warmth of the blankets or the chafing on his wrists or anything else. There's a tube down his throat, and he gags around it as he jolts awake. He's not choking - it's forcing air into his lungs - but the sensation is horribly invasive and makes him want to vomit.

He reaches up, blindly, to pull it out of his mouth, and his left wrist tugs sharply against a restraint. Metal, probably handcuffs. Theta opens his eyes and tries to sit up to look, and-

Oh. That's new. Perhaps it's a trauma response, body instinctively trying to mimic Marla's in hopes of acceptance; perhaps it's just probability. Theta finds herself wondering the precise odds. There's evidence that prior regeneration does indicate a preference for the next body, after all, so...

She's getting distracted. There's still a tube down her throat, and she's still tied to this bed, and she can feel her hearts picking up now that she's no longer distracting herself with probabilities.

Quickly, she does another glance around the room. There's a few medical-looking machines hooked up to her by several wires in her arms, though she can't feel anything. Across from her is the same glass window that's taunted her with the thought of escape for weeks, now. Her right hand is restrained as well, a mirror of the metal holding her left. She can move her legs, at least, underneath the new blankets, but that isn't much use.

Well, if she can't move, she can at least try to figure out how she got here. It's the same bed, the same room, but a different body. The cold from the blizzard must have been severe enough to kill her, and Marla had found out and taken advantage.

Artron energy, that's what Marla's after. Theta reaches mentally for the stores of the fizzing, bubbling gold inside her chest, expecting to find them drained dry. Instead, there's just as much there as there's always been. She freezes, baffled.

Maybe that's just normal. It's not as though she has any other experiences to go off of. Maybe the lack of Artron energy just isn't noticeable until it's all gone, or Marla's device to siphon it off doesn't work. There's any number of reasonable explanations, and yet Theta finds her mind jumping to absurd conclusions about how something must be  _ wrong _ with her.

It's a worrying, pervasive thought - this body must be prone to that, prone to distraction and and concern, unlike the last one. More like how she used to be, when she was blond and too clever for her own good. Probably still too clever for her own good, but she's almost definitely not blond, with or without the  _ e, _ anymore. Not that she can really check, restrained to the bed as she is.

The sound of someone speaking, incomprehensible though it is, breaks Theta away from her thoughts. She hadn't even heard the door open, but Marla now stands in the doorway, happy in a manner that doesn't bode well. Anticipatory, almost, like a predator that's spotted prey and knows it's just a matter of time before there's a fresh meal.

Marla says something, and her translator must still be broken because it comes out total nonsense. From the tone, though, it's likely something cheerful that places all the blame for the current situation squarely on Theta's shoulders. Unlike her last self, she's a little less prone to believing it.

If she could, Theta would be making some kind of snarky comment -  _ oh, _ she's snarky this time, too. Instead, she settles for what she hopes is a venomous glare.

Still cheerful, Marla leans over to look at one of the machines hooked up to Theta. Her eyebrows go up, and she smiles. That's even more ominous than the almost hungry look she'd had before. She rattles off a chipper string of nonsensical syllables that Theta's brain can't quite connect to any meaning, and then turns and heads for the door.

It's unbelievably frustrating to be unable to understand Marla, now. If it weren't for the tube down her throat, Theta would almost be tempted to say something, just in the hopes that it would prompt Marla to fix her translator. Not knowing what made the woman so happy has Theta on edge, worried about what's to come. Past events have given her enough of a pattern to guess, though, and she's certain that it isn't going to be pleasant. It hasn't been so far, after all.


	30. Day Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta wakes up after regenerating again, restrained to the bed in her room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme is an alternate prompt - Nightmare  
> TW: Unreality/dreams, victim blaming, needles, slight blood

Theta's still restrained to the bed when she sees her TARDIS, her lovely ship, her  _ home, _ materialize outside of the window. She sits up, tugging urgently at the restraints on her wrists. She needs to get up, she needs to warn her friends before-

The room stretches, more identical beds appearing at regular intervals. One of her friends is restrained in each one, handcuffed to the bed just the same as she is. Theta wasn't quick enough to warn them, and now they're trapped, too. More sources of Artron energy for Marla's horrible experiments.

More than anything, she wants to talk to them, to apologize for being so  _ stupid _ as to get herself kidnapped and for leading them to the same trap. But her lungs aren't getting enough air, or the air is poisonous, or there's something down her throat, or they won't understand her if she speaks. It's simultaneously all of these and none of them and the only constant is that she can't say a word.

Desperate, she reaches her mind out, hoping for the comfort of the shared mental embrace, only to find harsh, cold shields blocking her from them. That hurts even worse than the inability to speak - a direct rejection, rather than just bad luck. They don't want her useless apologies. They blame her. Of course they do; if she hadn't been so foolish, so easily distractible, this never would have happened.

She pulls at the handcuffs again and feels the start of a sob well up in her chest. All she'd wished for, when she'd been terribly alone and so hungry for any connection, was her friends. But it's unbelievably worse to have them so close but to be unable to touch them, unable to feel their minds.

No. No, she's not going to cry. It won't help anything, and it'll only make them hate her more. Theta swallows as best she can around the tube still down her throat and squeezes her eyes shut.

When she opens them, she's back amongst the endless pillars of stone and blue-hued grass. No defining features in any direction, just endless spires of grey rock, stretching on forever into the horizon.

Theta feels her stomach twist with hunger, her head going dizzy and fogged. There's a weight around her neck, a pressure, a  _ collar. _ The feeling of the cold metal under her fingers is distant as she tugs at it, testing if it's really there.

She's done this, hasn't she? Isn't this over? Hasn't she been through enough of this infinite, repetitive world?

One step forward is all she takes before the world dissolves into nothing. Darkness, deep as space, deep as the void between universes.

It reforms from threads of gold, and she's chained to another chair, in another room. A woman, severe face and grey hair, cold eyes fixed on Theta.

"If you just hold still, this will go much quicker," she says.

The woman reaches past Theta, grabs a syringe, and slips it carefully, clinically precise, into a bared vein. For a moment, there's only a slight sting, and then the pain intensifies and the woman pulls the plunger out, drawing scarlet blood up out of Theta's skin.

"There, see?" The woman sets the syringe aside. "Nice and easy."

She's familiar, achingly so, in a way that simultaneously makes Theta want to relax and to  _ run. _ Comforting, but not trustworthy. A lie wrapped up in a warm hug.

And then the woman is gone, and Theta wakes up, and she is still so horribly, horribly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything up until the very last paragraph is a dream, just in case I didn't make it clear


	31. Day Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Theta has a nightmare about her friends getting captured, and about a woman she doesn't remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final theme is Today's Special: Torture - Experiment | Whipped | Left For Dead  
> TW: Dissociation, suicidal ideation, implied character death

Theta feels… off. She can't quite put it to words, but there's a subtle exhaustion on the edge of her consciousness, making the act of staying awake a struggle. The source is easy enough to guess - Marla is still draining her regeneration energy. The woman comes in every hour to replace the vessel filled with swirling golden light, and then she disappears again.

Now that Theta is being  _ useful, _ Marla's much more willing to bring food for her, though 'food' might be an inaccurate term. With the tube still down her throat, for no clear reason other than to keep her quiet and humiliated, Theta can't exactly eat; instead, she's fed through an intravenous drip. It's better than nothing, but when Marla had inserted yet another needle under her skin, Theta had felt on the verge of a hearts attack. 

She's never had a fear of needles, not until now. Hospitals had always made her wary, but she'd always been able to sit still and get whatever shots the Academy required for the year. These days, though, only the restraints on her wrists kept her from lashing out and doing something painful to Marla. The mere sight of the needle is enough to set her hearts pounding.

When Theta's alone, during the intervals where Marla is probably doing horrible things with the stolen Artron energy, she tries to escape. She's rubbed her wrists red and broken skin over and over again, but apparently the constant outflow of regeneration energy means the skin regrows far faster than usual. This would almost be a blessing, if it weren't for the fact that rubbing fresh skin down to bleeding flesh hurts much more than just letting the wounds stay. New, sensitive nerves feel more than overwhelmed ones, or at least it seems that way.

Still, her most likely chances at escape all hinge on getting at least one hand free, so Theta keeps trying.

She's a good portion of the way through scraping her left wrist raw once more, tugging her hand back and forth against the skin-warmed metal, when she realizes that the broken skin on her right wrist hasn't healed.

Frantic, terrified that she'd somehow  _ missed _ the final dregs of her regeneration energy being stolen away, Theta reaches a thought out to prod at the place where that golden haze lives in her mind. Instead of a barren, empty space like she'd feared, she finds it just as full as it's always been, and she relaxes. Her body must just be reaching the limit of how long the aftereffects of regeneration can be dragged on, and it's beginning to close off the stores of Artron energy again.

Well, maybe now Theta will be able to get herself loose of these handcuffs. Newly determined, she keeps trying to tug her wrists free.

Marla comes back, forty-three minutes and seven seconds later. Theta stops trying to escape; she's sure that the room has cameras watching her, so Marla probably already knows, but doing it in front of the woman is unbelievably foolish.

Just as she's done the past times, Marla takes a cursory glance at Theta's vitals, and then leans over to retrieve the container of Artron energy. Pauses. Frowns.

The container - hyperplastic, Theta thinks, or something equally sturdy, in order to contain something so volatile - is noticeably less full than the previous three that she's seen. Barely halfway, if that. Marla looks up from the container with barely-restrained fury brimming in her eyes, and Theta almost wishes that she could flinch back, just to get an infinitesimal amount of space further away from the woman.

She snarls out a few terrible syllables, that Theta  _ still _ doesn't understand, and stalks out of the room. There's a sharpness in the air, something terrible about to happen, and Theta can taste it.

It's only two minutes, three seconds before Marla returns, and the timelines are knotting around her like tangled yarn. Theta braces herself for… something. Something awful.

Her timeline  _ lurches _ backwards, dragging her mind along with it as she feels everything rewind. Pain explodes behind her eyes as her sense of time loses all coherency, and she feels the skin on her wrists form, scrape away, reform in reverse. More than pain, it's the feeling of temporal wrongness that makes her stomach churn.

She thinks of that small, furry rodent, back to when she'd first discovered what Marla was doing down in that horrid lab of hers, and finds herself somewhat grateful the thing was already dead. Time Lords aren't naturally inclined towards pity, but the thought of having one's consciousness dragged back and forth across the timelines for the sole purpose of reliving the experience of being dissolved in acid is more than enough to push past that particular barrier.

The temporal equivalent of being dragged backwards through a field of broken glass stops, though it leaves Theta still stranded in the middle of that metaphorical field. Her body has been pulled back to its state as it was two hours ago, still giving off Artron energy like blood from an open wound. A fitting simile.

Marla smiles, and puts a new container into the machine to gather the flowing golden light. She turns, leaves, and the door clicks shut behind her.

If Theta were kinder, or able to speak, she would have tried to warn Marla that she was about to cause a paradox. The energy she's draining from Theta has already been taken, and there's no paradox machine to stabilize the resulting incompatibility with reality that's about to ensue.

But Theta no longer cares, and that damnable tube is still down her throat filling her lungs with air at mechanical intervals, and her mind is still unbalanced and exhausted, and so she says nothing. She lays her head back against the pillow, and resumes trying to tug her wrists free.

An hour later, almost to the second, Marla comes back and repeats the process, forcing Theta's body back along its proper course of time; a battered raft attempting to sail upstream. Theta can feel her hearts beginning to stutter out of rhythm, her mind too fogged with pain and confusion to think straight.

Another hour - or so Theta assumes, because her sense of Time is so dreadfully off now - and she goes through it again. Everything she sees is blurry, smears of color instead of shapes. Her left heart is beating twice as fast as her right. She can't feel her legs.

Time is meaningless, but she thinks she's been dragged backwards through it once more. What little remains of her consciousness is floating somewhere above the corpse that has yet to realize it's a corpse.

Again. It would be so easy to dissipate, just let her body go and die in all the ways that matter.

Again. The thread holding her to reality is mere spider silk, lighter than air and thinner than her hopes of living.

Again. The endless abyss of nothingness between universes would make a lovely final resting place, wouldn't it?

Again.

Again.

Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep an eye out for the comfort to this hurt! I plan to post it... some time soon.


End file.
